


Spider-Man: Glory

by PurePazaak



Series: Spider-Man: Beyond Void and Depths [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Horror, Mutants, Psychological Drama, SHIELD, Symbiote - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurePazaak/pseuds/PurePazaak
Summary: Ten months after gaining his powers, Peter Parker tries to maintain a precarious balance between his personal life and his crime-fighting alter ego when he suddenly becomes the primary target of a restructured SHIELD under the leadership of Tony Stark.With soldiers, mercenaries and Iron Man himself hot on his trail, Peter must learn to master the enigmatic symbiote granting him strength before it consumes him from within.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Spider-Man AU wherein an 18-year-old Peter Parker acquires both his spider-powers and the symbiote at the same time.--Special thanks to Raeker for proofreading assistance!It's worth mentioning that this story focuses on Peter's relationship with Felicia.Part 2 of a trilogy.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Relationships: Peter Parker/Felicia Hardy, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Scott Summers/Kitty Pryde
Series: Spider-Man: Beyond Void and Depths [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804039
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**2006**

**10 Months After the Brooklyn Disaster**

The moment he felt the recoiling bump of the landing gear touching down on the asphalt, Sergei Kravinoff tore open the helicopter’s sliding door and hopped out in one smooth motion. He could hear several of his subordinates following suit, and from the sounds of their swearing not all of them had recovered from the effects of the long flight quickly enough to stick the landing as well as he had.

Even though the transport’s slowing fans were buffeting the air around him, it was as warm and acrid as he had feared it would be. He scrounged up his nose at the assailing stench of garbage, bird shit and seawater.

“New York,” he muttered, heaving his pack over his right shoulder. “It stinks even out on the islands…”

“Yes. Somehow worse than even I had expected.” A woman’s voice, even and steady as she approached him from behind. “Guess I got the wrong impression from the Triskelion.”

“The Triskelion was on international waters… I think.” Sergei glanced over his right shoulder to appraise the mercenary standing at attention behind him. She wore olive-green military fatigues like his, which he no longer felt quite clashed with her short red hair. “Is this your first time in New York, Natasha?”

“The first and hopefully the last.” Her green eyes were hard as she glared at the skyscrapers outlined by the amber setting sun. “A monument to excess and sin. I’ll take Novosibirsk over this any day of the week.”

“Hmm. You might want to watch your language around our employers, or you might set off another Red Scare.”

“They could use one. That meteorite would have done us all a favour by impacting a few hundred miles more inland.”

“If it had, you would be more worried about reinventing fire than resurrecting the Motherland right now.” He glanced around at the three men and one woman who now stood to attention behind his second-in-command. “I feel like you’ve only become more ideological since turning to mercenary work, my dear.”

Natasha Romanoff grinned, her canines almost seeming to flash in the setting sun. “Keep your friends close and all that, comrade.”

“Heh. Well, in that case,” Sergei glanced up towards the growing noise of an engine, “your worst enemy will be about as close as he can get real soon.”

Natasha and the other mercenaries followed his gaze and watched in silence as a small object in the sky came ever closer, gleaming a faint red brilliance. From the corner of his eye, Sergei could see the helicopter’s pilot, who had transported them from JFK International to the SHIELD facility on Governor’s Island, finally stepping out of his cockpit to secure the vehicle while throwing the team disapproving glances.

“The chief anointed capitalist swine,” Natasha muttered as the object became more discernible.

“Really?” Sergei laughed. “You think that’s old Jameson inside that suit of armour?”

“Alright, alright.” Natasha grinned wryly, but didn’t move her hard gaze. “The heir presumptive to the hollow throne, then.”

“You’ve definitely become more poetic, that’s for certain.”

The approaching object was surprisingly fleet, and within a minute it was already in the process of landing in front of them: a suit of powered armour, painted in alternating shades of red and gold. It seemed bulky and extremely heavy, yet the movements with which it slowly descended towards the ground, using engines built into its soles and gloves, seemed lithe and agile. Frightened seagulls squawked and flew away, and the mercenaries shielded their eyes as the exhaust from the suit’s engines blew dust and gravel in all directions.

_‘Come on, Sergei. Play it cool. Try not to let this clown know how much of a clown you see him as.’_

As the suit touched down with a loud metallic clang the overbearing noise of the engines finally died away, leaving Sergei’s ears ringing slightly. Within a split second the visor on the suit’s helmet lifted automatically, and he could finally see the pilot within: young, blue-eyed and wearing a goatee much like his. _‘The face of hubris incarnate.’_

“Mr. Stark?” He hoped the man could hear him, covered as his ears seemed to be by the rest of the helmet. An odd watery liquid seemed to be trickling down the side of his face, mingling with his sweat.

“Phew, right the first time.” Tony Stark, multi-billionaire industrialist and Director of SHIELD, seemed to be somewhat out of breath as he took several loud steps forward and held up a heavily-armoured hand. “You must be Sergei Kravinoff. Glad to finally meet you.”

Sergei stared hesitantly at the proffered hand for a moment, then shook it firmly. Stark didn’t seem to apply much force to the gesture, but he immediately realized that he could have crushed his hand as easily as an eggshell. From her disapproving glare, he could tell that Natasha heavily disapproved of the power play. _‘So much for first impressions.’_

“A pleasure, Mr. Stark. We’re glad to be here.”

“Aha,” the man drawled, glancing luridly at Natasha. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

Noticing that his second-in-command was squeezing her free hand into a fist, Sergei quickly took a step forward and exaggeratedly hefted the pack hanging over his shoulder.

“Will we be stationed on Governor’s Island, sir?”

“Ah, straight to business. Just the way I like it.” Stark flashed him a bright white grin and turned while making a motion to follow. “Yes, this is where you’ll be lodged. I trust you’ll find the accommodations to your liking.”

“We don’t want for much, sir.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Especially seeing as you’ve just spent, what, eight months in Afghanistan?”

“Thereabouts.”

As Sergei led his team behind the hulking armoured man towards a building resembling a small observatory, he couldn’t help but notice that Stark had not even so much as brought up his unique apparel.

“Well, New York might not be nearly as safe as Afghanistan, but at least there’re plenty of restaurants that’ll serve you pork chops.”

Sergei forced a chuckle with some effort. For the first time he noticed a whirring from within Stark’s suit, like that of servos in constant use. The armour looked pristine – it had clearly not seen much direct combat. But then again, what had he expected? The antics of New York’s renowned Iron Man were by now well-known across the globe, and from the online videos he’d seen of the man’s self-proclaimed war on crime, combat did not usually last long enough for the criminals to get a shot off on him; they either dropped their weapons and tried to flee in terror or were concussed into the following week by one of the kinetic blasts fired from the suit’s gloves.

As the group approached the observatory-like facility a steel door was swung open and six men dressed as military engineers emerged, holding a variety of tools. Behind them followed two armed men whom Sergei almost immediately recognized. _‘US Marines. Our welcoming committee, I’ll wager.’_

“This is it, ladies and gentlemen,” Stark said, sweeping his arms and turning to raise an eyebrow at Natasha. “SHIELD HQ Eastern Seaboard, yadda yadda. You’re no strangers to our secretive little organization, what with your time on the Triskelion last year.”

Sergei wasn’t sure if a barb was hidden beneath the mention of their past employment, and opted to simply nod his head curtly.

Stark smiled disarmingly as the engineers grouped up behind him. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up on the good old days and talk of those yet to come in just a moment. I need to get this suit off and wash up a little, then I’ll meet you in the conference room in a half hour or so.”

“Understood.” Sergei gestured for his team to follow suit and headed towards the entrance, where the heavily-armed Marines seemed intent on trying to stare him down as they waited to guide them.

The inside of the facility resembled the outside in a lot of ways: a lot of concrete, artificial lighting, and compact in its construction. It was only after they’d taken a lift down two levels that Sergei realised the sheer size of the facility that was hidden below ground.

“This place looks brand-new,” Natasha muttered as they stepped out into a hallway with shining white floors. “They must have rebuilt it all after the Brooklyn Disaster.”

“Hrmm.” Aleksei Sytsevich growled from behind him, making his first noise since getting off the helicopter. “Lot of blood in the earth here.”

They were led past windowed conference rooms and locked doors guarded by suspicious Marines bearing the eagle insignia of SHIELD on their shoulders. Sometimes, even entire corridors were blocked off, and Sergei could see men in lab coats scurrying about in the rooms beyond. _‘This place is already fully operational. Who knows what secrets SHIELD harbours here?’_

The team was finally led into a room labelled ‘Barracks 04’, before which the two marine guides stood to attention expectantly. Every mercenary that passed them on the way into the room shot them glares of varying strength, with Natasha’s emerald intensity finally seeming to unnerve them somewhat.

The barracks room was just about the same as could be expected of any such lodgings; rows of bunk beds set near lockers and containers for equipment and clothing. A passageway seemed to lead into a bathroom with a sliding door, affording a good deal more privacy than they had enjoyed in the past eight months they had spent on operations. Sergei dropped his bags and went over to a wooden bench placed in front of the lockers, atop which a neatly folded letter had been placed. Adorned with hearts and musical cherubs, the inside simply read: ‘Welcome to your new home away from home. –Stark’.

“That man has some nerve,” Sergei grunted, crumpling the letter in his hand. “I’m beginning to think we should have charged extra just to have to put up with him.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t?” Natasha asked, opening up her pack as she slumped down on one of the bunk beds. “Looks like you’ve already made your first mistake in this new war, Sergei.”

The team leader sat down heavily on the bench and looked over his entire team. Natasha, despite her nonchalant attitude, seemed to be on top of things and had already taken out her duty roster in order to plan the coming days. Inspecting one of the lockers was explosives expert Aleksei Sytsevich, his brown-haired buzz cut a fitting match for his imposing musculature and strong chin. He seemed to be analysing some detail of the locker’s interior before he was abruptly slapped on the shoulder by Jackson Brice, the only American on the team. Aleksei glared back with apparent spite at the laughing man, whom everyone in the team referred to as Montana, but Sergei knew that theirs was one of the strongest bonds in the team.

“You must feel right at home, Montana,” Aleksei said, shutting the locker with a gentleness that contrasted shrilly with his enormous build and scarred face.

“Not really. Never much been one for the big city.” The man removed his cowboy hat and patted it against his thigh a few times, revealing his shaggy blonde hair while flashing a grin. “As you might’ve picked up by now, I’m not exactly from around here.”

“If it smells like garbage I can only assume your home is nearby.”

Montana guffawed and slapped Aleksei on the shoulder again, the latter this time failing to hide a brief smile.

“What do you think, Sable?” Sergei directed his gaze towards the silver-haired woman who had just finished inspecting the bathroom. “Thoughts on security, escape routes?”

“You’re going to have to give me more time, boss,” she replied, adjusting her dyed hair into a ponytail. “The room checks out, I haven’t been able to detect any listening devices or cameras. But they could be in a million different places. I’ll let you know by tonight.”

Sergei nodded, satisfied by his security expert’s response. The fact that she had always refused to reveal her real name to them had never bothered him in light of her professionalism and skill. He finally turned his gaze towards the last member of the team. “Did you manage to find anything new about how big this place really is?”

Daniel Brito, or Dan as he insisted to be called, was shaving what few hairs adorned his well-chiselled chin before a handheld mirror as he sat on a bunk bed. “Not much, Sergei. At least three levels, but I’d bet there are four. They’ve put us where the rest of the barracks are, alongside the conference rooms and I assume the command centre. Judging by the lab coats, they’re still running experiments here, most likely one floor down.”

“Jesus,” Natasha muttered. “What do you think they’ve got down there?”

“Who knows?” Sable said, rifling through her backpack. “Maybe another Abomination?”

“Is that why we’re here, boss?” Dan, feeling his chin, put down the razor. “To run security on SHIELD’s Frankenstein monsters?”

“How should I know?” Sergei sighed and checked his watch. “They weren’t very forthcoming with information this time around.”

“No way it’s just a security detail,” Natasha said, hopping off her bed and standing up straight. “The pay would be worse and the term longer. As it stands, they’re paying us a fortune for just a month of activity. You know this can only be one kind of job.”

Montana nodded his head, still holding his hat by his thigh. “A hunt.”

Sergei also nodded. He had thought as much when he had first heard the vague details of the assignment. If there was one thing that distinguished his unit from other small-scale mercenary enterprises, it was the regularity with which they received contracts to chase down and capture or kill individuals. Not to mention their seamless success rate.

“As I thought,” Aleksei grumbled, tapping the locker door with an enormous index finger. “The next question is, who?”

“Or what?” Sergei slowly looked around the room as he posed the query.

Natasha seemed to be on the verge of answering when the door to their quarters suddenly opened with a soft clank, making Montana and Aleksei both jump and reach for their concealed knives instinctively.

Tony Stark stood at the doorway in an expensive-looking suit, a bottle of champagne in one hand as he held the other one up disarmingly.

“Wow, haha. Look at you jumpy mercenaries. If I’d popped this bottle while walking in I’d be riddled with holes right now, wouldn’t I?”

Sergei forced a smile and gestured for his team to be at ease. “Nothing so drastic Mr. Stark. But I can’t speak for knife wounds.”

“Haha, I love it!” The billionaire threw a jovial glance at one of the marines flanking the outside of the doorway. “Real mercenaries, as real as they get! Well, let’s not waste any more time. Follow me, we’ll drink up this bottle and discuss the minutiae of your assignment.”

After exchanging wary glances, the members of Sergei’s team followed their leader out the door, not forgetting to greet the Marines with sneers or hard stares on the way out.

The conference room the Stark picked was one of the less private ones, with its walls made of glass emblazoned with the SHIELD emblem. A large office table stood in the centre of the room, rectangular and flanked with cushioned black chairs. Several of the seats had folders laid out before them, as well as champagne glasses. As the team members took their seats, with Stark sitting at the head, Sergei could only marvel that the comment about the alcohol had not merely been a crude joke.

Looking down at the folder before him, he read the bold title adorning its cover: ‘MISSION FILES AND PREP DOCUMENTS – ENFORCERS’.

 _‘Enforcers…’_ It had been a while since Sergei had heard the vague English translation of the team’s Russian name. _‘Can’t say it really outlines our kind of work all that well…’_

“Well then, if you’ll excuse me a bit of crudeness, I think it’s best if we just pass the bottle down the table for expediency’s sake,” Stark said nonchalantly after pouring himself a glass. “I’m afraid Jarvis was most insistent on cleaning out the chimney rather than coming to meet this merry band.”

Sergei served himself a glass out of politeness, though the situation was hardly going according to any sort of protocol in the first place. As the bottle was passed down the table only Montana and Dan served themselves, with the others refusing to drink. Stark didn’t seem to mind as the bottle was passed back to him by Sable, instead grinning at her with however much charm he could muster. The woman didn’t react in the slightest, and Stark cleared his throat, stood up, and took a quick swig of champagne.

“Right then, to business! You’re all surely wondering what brought you all the way to this fine city on so little notice. The fees and operative costs have all been covered already, so let’s get straight to the point: this is a manhunt. Or, rather, a bughunt. If you could please turn to the first page of the briefing…”

Sergei opened the folder and saw exactly what he’d expected to see. “Spider-Man.”

“Yup, that’s right. Spider-Man, less commonly known as Man Who is Also a Spider.” Stark smiled and took another swig. “Better known as something of a pain in SHIELD’s ass.”

“Spider-Man is a pain in SHIELD’s ass?” Natasha raised an eyebrow as she closed the folder again. Sergei knew that she had already read the entire page and committed it to her photographic memory. “That’s not the impression the media’s been giving off in the past few months.”

Stark grimaced slightly as he shrugged. “The media is one factor we’ve had trouble controlling, despite Mr. Jameson and the Daily Bugle’s best efforts. People just like the rapscallion, what can I say?”

“But you don’t,” Aleksei stated. “SHIELD doesn’t.”

“No.”

“Because he’s a mutant running around freely?” Natasha pointed at the document as she leaned her chin on one palm.

“That is correct, Ms. Romanoff. I see you’ve already-”

“Wait, pardon me,” Montana interrupted him, holding up a hand. “So what’s one more mutant running around your city? Or swinging around it? He’s harmless.”

For just a brief second Sergei could see the side of Stark’s mouth twitch in what could only be anger or frustration, but the man immediately composed himself.

“Well, as you will discover just a few pages into the briefing, our government has certain plans for dealing with the mutant situation. Spider-Man is an aberration in those plans… the people of New York don’t really see him as a mutant, more as a city mascot. That doesn’t really fit in with the image we had in mind for mutant-kind.”

Even though Stark had kept his answers relatively curt, Sergei suddenly felt overwhelmed by the sheer weight of what he was saying. Trepidation bordering on fear abruptly blossomed within him. _‘Jesus. Just what have we gotten ourselves into here?’_

“Says here you want him taken in alive.” Dan spoke up for the first time as he leafed through the documents. “Why?”

“Top brass isn’t particularly keen on the idea of mutant martyrs. Better to have him processed into the Xavier Institute.”

“Okay, the why not just get a SHIELD sniper to tranq him in mid-air?”

“Too obvious, too risky. The public would be onto us in no time. Especially if he falls from the sky and splats down in the middle of Times Square.”

“Does it matter what the public think?” Montana persisted.

Stark shrugged. “Not really. But SHIELD still likes to keep a low profile and, as I mentioned, he’s quite popular these days. We can’t just send our agents running around town looking for him without a good reason, even if he is a mutant.”

“Why not track him, follow him to his home?” Aleksei tossed his folder onto the table, clearly not intending to read all of it.

“We’ve tried that, but he’s surprisingly slippery. We know the hours he operates in, but the days in which he does so are irregular and he always wraps things up with a nice little complex manoeuvre into abandoned buildings or areas of low visibility.” He finished his glass of champagne and began pouring himself another. “No, no, I’m afraid Spider-Man has to be tracked down while he’s on the move. And, well, the Enforcers seem to me like the ideal fit for this job...”

“And if there are witnesses,” Sergei said, finally having finished reading the briefing, “nothing can link some ragged band of mercenaries to the US government. We’re just doing it for the money.”

Stark raised his glass in a toast and took a slow sip.

“Do you have any clues as to who Spider-Man might be when he’s not out on patrols?”

“All we know is in there,” Stark indicated at Sergei’s folder. “Admittedly not much. He’s probably a student or an employee at Empire State University, due to the general area in which he operates. Probably not a teacher going by his stature. Which brings me to my final point, one which you won’t find anything about in those folders.”

There was an expectant silence as Stark quickly finished his second glass and began pouring out his third. “Bonuses.”

“Bonuses?” Sergei was genuinely surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation.

“Or call it further incentive, if you’d wish. It’s an idea I had, funded from my own pockets.”

“Go on.”

Stark finished his third glass with surprising speed and seemed to briefly debate pouring out a fourth before finally doing so. “I’d be willing to pay you a handsome reward for any stray mutants that you come across – each one you bring in will net you a significant cash bonus. Like I said, incentive for running around a city as big as this one for a whole month. If you nab Spider-Man tomorrow, you can keep doing this until your contract is up. Call it maximizing your profits, if you will. Making the most of your time in the US. Easy work for good pay.”

Sergei suddenly had a bitter taste in his mouth, one he knew not to attribute to the champagne. “Hunting down mutants isn’t exactly easy work if you have to run blood tests to detect most of them.”

“We have a vast network of informants all over the city. Most of the mutants here have already been rounded up, something like ninety-per cent of them. But if our informants report in about suspected stragglers, we send you instead of our boys in green to bring them in for testing.” He took a long sip of champagne and grinned. “Besides, sometimes they’re not hard to detect at all. Just look for feathers or scales or whatever.”

“What do you get out of this, Stark? This is starting to sound a lot more political than we bargained for.”

“It’s all linked to your mission. If you capture a few mutants before or after catching the big prize, we spin a yarn about you being a gang of mercs paid to do just that, as opposed to a gang of mercs out to capture Spider-Man and no one else. There are so many groups that are out for mutant blood that no one will even spare you a second thought.”

Sergei nodded slowly. _‘It makes sense… a twisted, sick kind of sense.’_ “And then, just like that, no more Spider-Man and the government can close the book on the mutant issue.”

“Voila!” Stark spread his arms out, his attitude bordering on drunkenness. “I knew you’d get the bigger picture. See, your mission isn’t just a little manhunt – it’s for the good of the whole nation. So, what do you say, Mr. Kravinoff?”

Sergei looked over his team, making eye contact with each of them in turn until he finally settled on Natasha. She seemed to be undecided for a long moment, before finally shrugging her shoulders.

Sergei felt his stomach sinking slightly as he acknowledged what had been unchangeable since the moment they had accepted the mystery contract; briefings like these usually only served to pour salt on his wounds.

“All right, Mr. Stark. We’re on board with this operation, just like we said we’d be.”

“Excellent!” Stark seemed overjoyed as he raised his half-empty glass for yet another toast. “I’m sure this marks the beginning of a truly wondrous friendship!”

Sergei grimaced as he raised his glass to return the toast and downed its contents in one sullen swig.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter Parker had to admit to himself that if there was one thing to be said about night-time web-borne travel it was that it afforded some modicum of privacy. Not a minute went by during the evening patrols without people on the street trying to call out, take a picture of or film what had recently been dubbed ‘New York’s Saddest Freakshow’ by the Daily Bugle. At night there was far less chance of bad language or something more physical – albeit less hurtful – being hurled his way. Plus, the cooler air felt a good deal fresher than during the day.

The only downside was that Peter collided into birds more frequently due to the limited visibility.

_‘The price one must pay for becoming the terror of the criminal underworld…’_

The young university student had laughed in disbelief one week prior upon reading an article that pointed out the significantly-reduced late-afternoon crime rates in contrast with the increase in daytime criminal activity. Lawbreakers had genuinely become wary of going about their business during the evening hours in which Spider-Man was most active and had adapted their schedules accordingly. _‘I really should be pleased at seeing results like these, but this just makes things harder on my timetable.’_

University life had not at all been as Peter had imagined it – or perhaps it simply _couldn’t_ be. A lot of his fellow dorm-mates’ time after classes was spent on drinking games or parties which he always eschewed for going out on patrols or getting some extra work done. Most of them seemed to have settled on seeing him as the local bookworm who could do no harm so long as he didn’t tag along. Peter didn’t particularly care what they thought, not having managed to warm up to any of them. He spent all his free time – his actual free time – away from his own dorm, with MJ.

The thought of his girlfriend swelled Peter with a warmth almost stronger than that which the suit generated in the cold, and he smirked goofily under his mask. Her name evoked images of sitting under a sun-streaked tree in Central Park, going on walks while being shown aspects of the city he’d never even thought to consider, and nights at her dorm room spent watching re-runs of Friends – and then some more.

Beams of evening sunlight lighting up loose strands of red hair falling on her freckles as she smiled…

 _‘Hoooo boy.’_ Peter tugged at the suit around his neck with a free hand as his smirk morphed into a ridiculous grin.

MJ was studying journalism and seemed to be having the time of her life with her studies. She had had considerably more luck than him in establishing a circle of friends at university, and still kept in regular contact with her old friends from high school. While Peter had had tried his best to succeed at the latter, he had ultimately failed on both fronts.

Harry, for one, had largely gone off the radar. He became introverted and solemn after receiving confirmation of his father’s death, and had gone to study at Columbia University in the wake of his surprisingly good grades. His time after classes since was always spent at home or with professional therapists. Peter had tried to regularly keep in touch with him by phone since he seemed to resent going out, but even that line of contact had trickled down over the months. He still hated that he had never been able to do more for Harry’s father, Norman Osborn, after the man had done so much for his family – the lawyers he had provided in the Triskelion case had won for them a significant settlement which had sufficed for both Aunt May’s new house in Queens and Peter’s college tuitions.

In Harry’s absence, Peter had formed a good friendship with someone he’d only met near the end of his high school days – the venerable Scott Summers and his long-time sweetheart, Kitty Pryde. The couple stayed at a dorm apartment relatively close to where Peter lived, and they often went out for meals together. Peter and Scott had only come to discover even more popular media which they shared a love for, and Kitty was equally fun to talk to, if often hard to keep pace with. Peter wished he could spend more time with them – especially since MJ was already a friend to them both – but they had themselves become rather reclusive in the last few weeks, even missing lectures on occasion. Peter had overheard the occasional sniggering and whispering during breakfast at the cafeteria that the couple was simply holed up in their room making love from dawn until dusk; he had never so much as thought of prying into the matter, but the regularity with which Scott replied to his texts indicated that things weren’t quite as lewd as rampant imaginations made them out to be. _‘Hope they’re not feeling sick or something. I’ll have to see if I can arrange for us to meet up sometime soon…’_

A familiar pang of guilt struck Peter as he finally thought of someone else whom he’d neglected to contact in the last few days. _‘Come on, Peter, you idiot.’_ He shook his head, swinging to a lower set of buildings absent-mindedly. _‘I mean, it’s not a big deal, only your best and oldest friend in the world, you freakin’ moron…’_

Peter glanced at a neon electronic watch near a storefront, reading 10:41 PM. He doubted that Felicia would be up for a late-night call whenever he made it back to his clothes and his phone, and he inwardly cursed the lack of pockets on his organic suit. While he’d tried in the past to mould it so as to be able to carry items like mace spray or a cell phone, it only made him bulkier and seriously uncomfortable. Wearing a backpack while fighting crime, on the other hand, seemed like a sure-fire way to get all the criminals to stop taking him seriously.

Making a mental note to visit Felicia the following day, Peter tried to recall her work schedule. The young Ms. Hardy had gone on to work at her father’s gym directly after finishing high school – college had never seemed like an option she’d wanted to seriously entertain. Peter had stopped pushing her about it long ago, being well aware of her family’s financial straits and his friend’s general attitude towards higher education and the working world.

_‘She’s probably at home now, watching some pre-recorded wrestling match or idling away on her PS2. Or sleeping. Gah, when’s the last time we talked…?’_

Felicia had teased him a lot as he’d undergone a myriad of changes over the last year. His hooking up with Mary Jane, the acceptance into Empire State, the outcome of the whole Triskelion lawsuit – it had all been an endless source of jabbing for her which had convinced him that things would never change between them. But in the past few months, keeping in touch had been harder and harder due to her long works hours and his irregular amounts of free time.

Peter swung onto a rooftop and glanced around, making one final sweep of the local area before heading back to where he’d hidden his belongings. He could smell a late dinner through a nearby apartment window as the sounds of gunfire and explosions drifted through another – definitely an 80s movie going by the synthwave beats accompanying the one-liners.

_‘A peaceful night. The way they should all be. You’d never even know what sort of madness went down here around a year ago… ten months ago.’_

He found it hard to believe that so much time had already gone by since New York had been struck by its greatest catastrophe in years – the day 652 people had been killed by one man – or one beast, as he was more wont to be called. The media had appended many names to Doctor Bruce Banner – the Brooklyn Abomination rising above the rest as the most popular – though the one which had stuck the most was simply _mutant_. That had been the definite conclusion drawn up by the scientists who had purportedly analysed him and now kept him in a constant state of dormancy: Bruce Banner had been a mutant of the highest calibre who had lost the ability to control his powers and subsequently had descended into an uncontrolled killing spree.

Peter grimaced at the recollection of the public reaction as he dove off the building while shooting off a web.

In an utterly predictable upheaval, public opinion against mutants took a sharp nosedive from which it had still not recovered. While the initial wariness and caution towards them had been tinged by fascination and even admiration, following the Abomination’s rampage there had been nothing left but fear and outright hatred. The Xavier Institute saw a sudden surge in mutants seeking admittance and government protection – all those which had previously been wary of the organization but saw no other choice in the face of mass protests and even lynch mobs. Eighteen mutants had been killed by maniacal civilians or civil servants throughout the nation in the months following the disaster, and one had taken over a dozen of his would-be-killers down with him, further fanning the flames. The country, alongside several other nations, had teetered on the brink of an unstoppable frenzy that had only been further incited by several religious and political groups.

Ultimately, the worst had not come to pass – only the second or third worst. One factor that had tempered the people’s ire was the fact that another reported mutant had been the one to stop Banner, and Peter had never deigned to correct the erroneous classification due to the small amount of good that it was doing. Those New Yorkers who had come to support his actions defended him ardently, and as a result Peter had enjoyed something akin to a free pass in a city that otherwise reported even suspected mutants to the police. New laws had quickly been drafted, urging mutants to report in willingly to the Xavier Institute so that proper integration into society could be assured and thus future disasters averted. It was well-known that none of them had agreed to these demands and were in hiding or grouping together, a notion only reinforced by the many support groups rallying around mutants all over the world.

_‘Now’s definitely a bad time to be a mutant. Of course, as if rabid police and suspicious neighbours weren’t enough, there’s an actual madman flying around the skies on an almost daily basis – and it isn’t me.’_

The brief thought made Peter glance around cautiously, although he knew that the source of his fears only made its boisterous appearances for a few hours around midday.

From one day to the next roughly six months past, the eccentric billionaire Tony Stark had up and decided to climb into a powered suit of armour – reportedly of his own making – and fly around the city punching crime in the face with his heavily-armoured fists. Peter had never even given much thought to the man, only vaguely having heard of him as one of the wealthiest industrialists in the city, so he had been all the more surprised by his sudden self-proclamation as ‘New York’s Defender.’ At first the situation had gone from comical to convenient, due to criminals again having to shift their activities to later in the day, then to seriously inconvenient after Stark had made it abundantly clear that mutants evading justice fell into the same category as drug dealers and thieves.

Peter had only too keenly been made aware of the reality of the situation when one day Iron Man had sighted him from over a dozen blocks away and made a beeline towards him, loudly demanding his immediate surrender as he did. Peter had only managed to avoid him after making a hard turn into a series of lower buildings where he’d made his panicked escape through a fish market. The experience had shaken him so strongly that he’d opted to simply change the times of his patrols to the hours after Iron Man headed back home for the day.

_‘And I thought I had a monopoly on making New York’s skyline as weird as possible…’_

Perching on the edge of a tall building, Peter released his webs and made a quick review of the night in his head. He had stopped a car theft and forced a speeding driver to slow down, all in around six hours of patrolling. _‘Definitely not the most eventful day ever. I haven’t stopped a store robbery in, what, a month? Even cats don’t seem to get stuck in trees anymore. Is this what it feels like to win the war on crime?’_

Just as he had the thought, the thin keening of an alarm made him turn towards the sound abruptly. _‘Oh hell, I jinxed it…’_ The sound was coming from a building two squares down, almost imperceptible if not for his acute hearing and the relative quietness of being so high up above the streets. _‘It’s coming from that penthouse… glass doors and windows all over.’_ Without a second thought he fired a web off against an adjacent building while planning the best trajectory to quickly make it onto the rooftop. _‘Come on, let me be lucky for once, let the alarm have tripped at the thief’s break-in…’_

Peter was not at all surprised when he made it onto the rooftop and saw that the thief was in the process of leaving the scene. _‘Yup. Just my luck.’_ He immediately broke into a sprint towards the figure, which he could see was a woman, as she dangled a rope over the building’s edge.

“Alright, hey!” He called out without breaking his stride. “It’s me, I’m here. You’re screwed!”

The thief jumped visibly at his call and let go of the rope, quickly taking several steps backwards to dodge him. Peter noticed that she was wearing black clothing somewhat resembling military apparel, and that her face was obscured by a hoodie and a balaclava. Still, even in the growing darkness of the night, he could make out a pair of shining blue eyes staring at him intently. She was carrying a backpack, most likely containing whatever had been stolen from the penthouse, and her body was clearly tensed in preparation for rapid action.

The hoodie, he noticed with some amusement, sported a pair of cat ears.

He took aim with both his hands in preparation for webbing her feet to the ground, but opted to issue a warning first.

“Alright, lady. You probably know who I am, so you should know the jig’s already up. Drop the backpack and place your hands on the ground, and you’ll get to wait for the police in a _way_ more comfortable posi-”

The woman suddenly and predictably bolted, heading towards the opposite end of the rooftop. Peter made a mental note to stop issuing warnings to criminals, citing their hundred per cent track record of being ignored, and fired two webs at her feet while quietly hoping that she wouldn’t faceplant nearly as hard as so many other fleeing criminals often did.

In the last possible second the woman changed direction slightly, both webs impacting against the ground next to her harmlessly. Peter frowned and began running after her, aiming a web squarely at her back with the intention of knocking her off balance.

Again, as if sensing the incoming projectile, the woman weaved and changed her trajectory just enough to dodge the web before continuing her sprint, her objective clearly a second set of rope which Peter had only just now noticed.

_‘Damn! Just how lucky can you get?’_

Opting to give up on the webs and instead tackle the thief before she could make her escape, Peter pushed himself to the limit and sprinted as quickly as he could, knowing that for just a split second she would have to stop to interact with the rope.

He was almost upon her, his right hand already outstretched towards the backpack, when she jumped as gracefully as a cat in a way he could never have anticipated.

_‘No FUCKING way-’_

Carried forward by his momentum, Peter was helpless to do anything but gawp as the woman noiselessly performed a backflip over his head like it was nothing, arching her back in a truly feline way. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to grab her foot as it almost brushed against his head, and was utterly unprepared when a second later he felt a strong, painful impact on the small of his back that sent him toppling forwards. Staggering and swaying his arms ridiculously, Peter only just managed to stop himself from toppling right off the edge, his eyes wide as he stared down at the rush of traffic and lights far below.

He was partially winded from the blow as he turned around to see her standing on the spot where she had landed her backflip on his back, her hands and feet spread apart in preparation for further action. _‘Did she just do what I think she did?’_ A rush of emotions assailed him as he took a step away from the edge – awe, disbelief, bewilderment – all surprisingly devoid of anger or frustration.

“Okay, hey,” he swallowed, holding up his hands as he took another step away from the edge. “Did you seriously pull off a videogame move on me just like that? Because, honestly, thank you. That was out of this world, what a sight.”

The thief didn’t move or otherwise react to his comment, but Peter thought he heard a snort from beneath the balaclava.

“Truly, I almost feel bad for bringing you in. Once you’ve served your sentence you should join the circus, really…”

The woman didn’t wait for him to finish his quip, seemingly pre-empting the web he was about to fire at her feet by lunging at him with a punch. He dodged the attack with ease, but was taken aback when she followed up on her momentum and swung her body about, striking him in the chest with her other fist.

Peter felt a slight pain where he’d been hit as he took a staggered step back, but the thief definitely seemed more hurt as she jumped back while massaging her fist with her other hand, her blue eyes wide as she stared at him.

_‘Yup, between my powers and this suit that’s what usually happens. Unless you’re a bodybuilder, like too many thugs these days seem to be…’_

The woman was barely still for a moment before she began closing the distance between them again, this time dodging his web-shot by diving forwards.

 _‘Gotcha!’_ Peter braced himself to hit her with a punch as soon as she stood back up, carefully tempered so as to just knock her out.

“I’m serious about the circus!” He panted, carefully trying to pre-empt her movements as her dive turned into a roll. “I can help, the Bugle-”

By the time Peter realized what her true intentions were it was too late, and he chided himself for indulging in stupid jibes at a time like this. Instead of using her momentum to get up on her feet, the woman somehow placed herself firmly with one hand against the asphalt rooftop while using her legs to sweep Peter off his feet. Losing balance, he toppled to the ground even as the woman stood up. He quickly raised one hand to fire off a web, this time certain that she couldn’t dodge, not at so close a distance.

The smoke grenade went off so quickly that she could only have pulled the pin while in mid-roll.

 _‘Jesus, give me a break!’_ Peter raised his hands instinctively, coughing and screwing his eyes shut as the white smoke engulfed his corner of the rooftop. Swearing inwardly, he fired off a couple of webs into the hazy cloud, but could tell from his senses that the thief had taken her chance to flee the moment the grenade had gone off. Shielding his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow he ran towards the inside of the rooftop, not failing to notice what a comical death it would have been to blindly toppled off the edge onto the streets below.

_‘This whole encounter has been nothing but movie stunts and cartoon tricks. What the hell?’_

The smoke grenade had gone off right above the spot where the rope had been anchored to the rooftop, so Peter had to run back to the edge of the building from further away in order to look for the descending thief. As he’d somehow suspected, she was nowhere to be seen; the rope ended near a raised construction lift adjacent to an open window.

Peter stood still, coughing as he pondered whether or not it would even be worth it to try to give chase. _‘Probably not. I’ve had this much luck against that thief on a rooftop, how would things look inside an enclosed space? And speaking of luck, what’s with hers?’_

Sitting on the edge with his feet dangling off the side, he massaged the spot on his chest where the woman had punched him, which still throbbed slightly. _‘She had an alternate escape route ready… or maybe that had been her way in? She’s flexible, in more ways than one, some sort of gymnast or athlete. Goddamn, those moves…’_

Peter felt like he had acquired and then honed a certain degree of acrobatics ever since he’d realized that falling from a couple of metres on his shoulders wouldn’t confine him to the hospital for a few weeks, but he had to acknowledge that this cat burglar was on a whole other level. _‘Honestly, I can’t help but admire her. Good for her, guess she earned whatever she stole. Until the next time we meet, that is.’_ He wondered how likely such a scenario would be in as large a city as New York, but he entertained the thought nonetheless. _‘I’m gonna need to go about things differently if we do fight again. Damn, never thought I’d see a criminal backflip over my head!’_

Standing up, Peter slowly made his way towards the entrance to the penthouse, where a perfectly-sliced hole marked the thief’s point of entry. He had half a mind to check to see what had been stolen or perhaps even look for clues, but both seemed ridiculous ideas in light of the burglar’s prior professionalism and the risk of security cameras pinning the whole blame on him. He walked over to the discarded smoke grenade and turned it around in his hand, but lacking a way of taking it along he reasoned that the police could do more good with it. _‘I’m more of a catch-you-in-the-act, punch-you-in-the-face sort of vigilante. Not much of a sleuth.’_

Putting the cylinder back where he’d found it Peter inspected the other set of rope and saw that it simply led down the windowed side of the building. _‘She probably would have made her exit through here, even though she could have just left the way she came in. Really cautious, this one.’_ Hearing police sirens below, Peter heaved a sigh and swung his way over to an adjacent building, careful that no-one could see him from below.

Once he’d gained enough distance from the scene of the crime, Peter began making his way back towards the spot where he had left his clothes, not too far from the ESU campus. He still felt partial disbelief at all the events that had transpired over the course of five minutes, and silently resolved that he would never again so much as think that crime was winding down under his watch.

As he made the suit disappear and pulled on his pants, Peter noticed the blinking light on his cell phone. With a sense of trepidation and still only half-dressed, he unlocked it and opened his inbox. Even as his thumb tapped the button, he remembered his promise to MJ to get her lamp fixed before the weekend.

_‘Please don’t be a dozen messages chewing me out…’_

There were, in fact, only five messages from MJ chewing him out.

But they all stung him to his very core.


	3. Chapter 3

Kitty Pryde awoke thrashing violently, almost hurling the sheets on to the floor as she sat up abruptly. She opened her eyes wide and gasped, a light sweat coating her body as the dimly-lit apartment room came into hazy focus. Her heart racing madly and her teeth almost aching from having been clenched so hard, she thought she might pass out from the sheer stress before she felt a familiar touch on her left shoulder.

“Kitty, hey.” Scott Summers, his brown hair still a mess from having just woken up, sat up in the bed and rubbed her back slowly. “It’s okay, Kitty. You’re okay.”

Catching her breath, the young university student blinked, stupefied for a moment as she looked him over. His boxers and Metallica t-shirt were exposed due to the sheets having been torn away by her.

“Scott.” Kitty squinted her eyes and slumped back onto the bed as she looked at him, her chest still heaving. “Again, I had the dream again… the nightmare.”

He nodded, brushing aside some of her hair which had fallen haphazardly over her face. “It’s over now.”

“The same nightmare again. Again and again…” She pressed a palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

“I’ll get you some water…”

“No!” A sudden, irrational panic suddenly came over her and she gripped his t-shirt for a brief moment. She was shaking as she stared into his hazel eyes. _‘I’m such… such a mess.’_

Scott didn’t say anything, his hand still massaging her back just under her neck. Sitting up against the wall, he reached down with his free hand and clasped hers in it, holding her tightly. She felt herself more and more calm by the second as she squeezed his hand back, embracing the warmth.

Glancing at their bedside alarm clock, she saw that it was 5:42 in the morning. Prior nightmares had woken her up at similar hours, though sometimes it had been thanks to Scott shaking her awake. _‘Where would I be without him? Still falling…’_

Always the same nightmare, the same terrors: her powers activating as she lost control of them, plunging her through the floor tiles, the foundations, the very cement and gravel until she was utterly lost, adrift and surrounded by nothing but darkness and mass. The Earth itself swallowing her up forever.

It would have been easy enough to get over such fears if she didn’t entertain their likelihood of occurring in reality. But she did, with nauseating regularity.

 _‘God. God, when will it end?’_ Kitty looked over the man who’d been by her side since they were children, blissfully ignorant of the horrors slumbering within them. She could still faintly see the spot on his left cheek where she’d drawn blood with her nails as he’d tried to wake her from her worst nightmare yet. As always when her eyes settled on the healing scars, she felt a pang of guilt followed by deep gratitude. _‘I’d have lost it by now if I were alone. I’d be in the loony bin, without a doubt. Or worse, back home with my parents.’_

“Scott?”

“Hm?”

Pressing her free hand against the bed for balance, she raised herself up and kissed him.

As the couple ate breakfast in the apartment’s communal kitchen, Kitty kept glancing at the doorway with trepidation. She knew that the rooms were all well-insulated, but she always felt a sliver of social guilt when making love so early in the morning.

“It’ll be a nice outside today,” Scott said, pushing away his empty cereal bowl. “No more convenient excuses for hanging around here all day.”

Kitty smiled wryly, tapping her slippers together under the table while she played with her ponytail. “Do you think it’s safe?”

Now it was Scott’s turn to glance at the doorway, though for completely different reasons. When he looked back at her, his smile was both sad and reassuring. “No. But we can only keep this up for so long, right? Raising suspicion and all. We have to show our faces every now and again.”

Kitty finished her microwaved pancake and leaned in closer to him, leaning her chin on her clasped fingers and speaking in a mock posh tone. “The talk around the well is that we spend our days in our room, madly making love.”

Scott emulated her pose and speech. “And how would the lady know what the gentry whispers of if we’re too busy doing just that?”

Grinning, Kitty elbowed his arm, almost making him lose his balance entirely. “I heard it from a certain red-headed friend of ours. We’ve got quite the lewd public image, milord.”

“Well, that can only carry us so far. We need to break things up a little, show our faces in public.” His tone was suddenly serious. “In case someone asks.”

Kitty grimaced as she looked down at her empty plate. “This is ridiculous, Scott. This… hiding. It’s sick.”

“I know.”

“I hate it.”

“So do I.” Scott placed a hand over hers. “But we’ll get through it. No matter what.”

Kitty looked at his hand, then up at his eyes. She’d noticed that he had gone through breakfast without squinting once.

“How are your eyes?”

“Better. They don’t sting with this much light anymore.” He reflexively touched a spot under his right eye with his free hand, as he so often did when talking of the subject. “I’m starting to think artificial lighting in general is fine. Might have something to do with sunlight.”

Kitty nodded slowly. She could only marvel at how much he’d improved in the past months. Cold, crawling memories assailed her of him screaming into a pillow in agony for hours on end as she’d tried her best to comfort him, unable to do anything to alleviate his pain. She often doubted whether she could have kept her eyes screwed shut for three full weeks as he had, all the while enduring constant pain, but Scott had seemed determined. He’d kept stressing the necessity of overcoming his mutation, especially in light of the day he had first awakened it during a hiking trip and completely obliterated entire trees around him like they were made of paper.

She looked into his eyes as he gathered their plates to wash them. _‘How hard it must be. To think that if you lost control you could kill just by looking. While I could die just by losing focus. Heh, like we were made for each other.’_

Sighing, Kitty leaned back in the cheap wooden chair, enjoying the sound of it creaking. They had both made the joint decision not to report in to the Xavier Institute. Something in their gut had made them feel ill at ease every time they had watched one of their public announcements, and this sense of suspicion had only increased with every rumour they’d heard of mutants never being heard of again, not to mention the leaked photographs of military vehicles transporting mutants in cuffs. While the US government had publicly denounced and refuted these claims, and many of the purportedly missing mutants had appeared in interviews to laugh off the rumours, there had always been an odd undertone to all of it that had set off some sort of alarm deep within them, like some kind of sixth sense.

Scott had reasoned that, after overcoming their initial difficulties in the beginning, their mutations were easy to hide and they thus should be able to keep living their lives as they had always intended to: in a normal fashion devoid of government internment, whether supposedly educational or otherwise, and free of social stigma. Kitty had agreed fully with him, but in recent weeks she had come to wonder if they could ever live truly free of a certain fear of discovery. _‘It’s like we’ve committed some crime. Bastards, fucking bastards.’_

She was jolted out of her reverie as Scott touched her shoulder, having finished with the dishes.

“So,” he said, smiling. “We gonna do this?”

Kitty took a brief moment to simply gaze at him, then raised an eyebrow and grinned impishly.

“Well, what choice do we have? I think we’re starting to run out of condoms.”

Peter glanced up as a flock of pigeons flew by overhead, disappearing down the direction they had come from and towards Central Park. He had to admit that the little devils really filled out the picture of a sunny New York midday, even if at night they were no more than flying hazards for spider-powered air traffic.

Sagging heavily in his left hand was the bag containing MJ’s repaired lamp, the procurement of which had taken all morning due to the local repair shops in a wide radius around ESU being on some sort of lamp-repairing strike simply to spite him. The journey to find an open store, however, had ultimately been a pleasant one largely thanks to MJ’s presence; while he had tried to talk her out of it his girlfriend had insisted and now strolled serenely alongside him, her arm locked around his.

“Well, here we are,” he said as they turned a corner. “From this evil aura, I can perceive that Professor Warren is only a few more blocks down the road.”

Mary Jane snorted, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “You know his hearing’s as strong as his aura, right? He’s writing up extra reading for you even as we speak.”

Peter raised his hand with the bag and drew a cross in the air. “May the Holy Spirit protect me from that which lurks under the university campus. Also, may lunch provide me with strength to overcome what awaits.”

“Oh, poor Mr. Parker. Am I impairing your freedom to go eat junk food at will?”

“Now, listen here, lassie…”

“Tut tut, and we were almost there.” She nodded towards a diner further down the street which he recalled other students in his dorm mentioning. “You need to work on your willpower, Peter.”

“How right you are, MJ.”

Glancing around for approaching cars, they curtly crossed the narrow road on a red light. _‘So this is what my life has boiled down to? Fighting crimes at night and committing them during the day? For shame, Spider-Man, for shame.’_

Inside the restaurant, Peter almost immediately caught sight of Scott and Kitty, largely thanks to the fact that the former was wearing his red-tinged glasses indoors as he always did, resembling a bad undercover agent out of a movie. He indicated them to MJ and they made their way over.

“Well, well,” Scott drawled dramatically as he watched them approach. “Looks like you succeeded in your quest for the magic lamp.”

“Hey, you’ll be glad to have one next time you’re holed up in your flat for weeks on end,” Peter drawled, grinning.

“Ouch, touché.”

The two couples greeted each other, Peter feeling a large surge of joy at seeing his friend. In Harry and Felicia’s absence, he had spent a great deal of time with Scott before the latter had begun dedicating his life to his girlfriend. While Peter was flexible enough not to feel resentful or frustrated, he always leaped at the opportunity to hang around someone with whom he shared so much in common.

MJ had already been friends with the couple long before Peter had entered the picture, getting along with them as well as she did with the rest of her many friends. Kitty, on the other hand, seemed relatively ambivalent in regards to Peter, seeing him more as an acquaintance than a friend. He felt likewise, certainly not having spent days on end watching TV shows with her as he had with Scott.

_‘Okay, maybe there’s just a tiny bit of resentment there.’_

They talked for a while before ordering their food, then chatted some more. MJ and Kitty were mostly catching up about classes and the news, the latter of which Mary Jane had become particularly passionate about. Peter’s discussions with Scott, on the other hand, were usually related to some form of media or the other.

“I hear they’re making an action movie about the Ueno impact,” Scott said.

“Wow, really? That’s pretty slippery territory.”

“Well, it’s been over a decade. More importantly,” he leaned forward, adjusting his sunglasses, “Nicolas Cage starring.”

“What?!” Peter slammed his leg and grinned. “Ha, yes! It really could only have been him.”

“Not Arnold?” Scott grinned. “I thought he would’ve been your first choice.”

Peter hesitated, suddenly taken aback by the memories. Just as Felicia had made him marathon almost every Arnold Schwarzenegger movie ever made, he had partially inflicted the same on Scott in turn. _‘Felicia… damn.’_

Peter cleared his throat, dispelling his reverie. “Well, you know how I feel about that. If we could develop a time machine I’d make 1982 Arnold star in every damn new movie, but 2007 Arnold… ehh.”

“Yeah, 1982 Arnold as the new James Bond would’ve made a damn killing…”

They laughed together and continued talking until their food came, then talked through their meal and kept it going after they were finished. Peter felt himself relaxing like he hadn’t in several days, and for the first time since the previous night his mind was entirely taken off his encounter with the figure the media had dubbed the Black Cat.

For just the briefest of moments, subconsciously accompanied with a sense of longing, he could genuinely forget that he had ever really become Spider-Man in the first place.

As they talked, Peter noticed small details in the way in which Scott and Kitty sat together; even while they were talking to other people, they would reach out for each other’s hands under the table or lean their shoulders against each other, as if doing so subconsciously. He couldn’t help but compare the observation with his own relationship; even after having recently marked ten months of dating and coming to feel like he truly loved MJ, there was always some factor keeping him from achieving that level of public intimacy. He sometimes feared that he had never managed to overcome the mental image he’d shaped of her throughout his school years, that of an unattainable figure always standing just beyond his reach.

Peter hated such thoughts, and always felt a tinge of sadness in them. The notion that even after all the time they had spent together, all the laughs and stories shared, the walks during the day and the moments during the night there could be even a grain of uncertainty within him almost felt repulsive.

Naturally, he had long suspected the true root of his disquiet, knowing only too well that it entertained an arachnid motif.

He glanced sideways at MJ, admiring the play of her long red hair with her beige camisole. He then looked at Scott and Kitty, who were listening intently to her recounting some journalist’s theories on the origin of mutants.

 _‘How lucky I am.’_ The restaurant’s interior was flooded in sunlight streaming in through the windows, making everyone’s hair shine slightly. _‘To have lost so much, to now have gained so much. So what if I don’t get to see my friends that often? They’re still there. So what if I’m still building things up with MJ? We have all the time in the world.’_

When the time came to order the check, Peter felt safely affirmed by a conviction that at least in that very moment in time, all would be right.

The rest of the day flew by with distressing speed.

The two couples went to the mall after lunch, where they idled through a myriad of businesses ranging from clothes shops to a tiny art deco business tucked away into a corner. They talked about the newest and upcoming releases as they browsed through a DVD store, and even spent some time at the arcade after opting not to go to the cinema. Afterwards, they made their way to a small park located near ESU’s campus where they could sit on the grass and talk as the sky turned an amber shade.

Peter was enjoying his time with them so much that all complaints about the heavy lamp he was lugging around were completely forgotten.

When MJ suggested that they go grab some dinner, Scott and Kitty politely declined and, after they all said their farewells, they made their way towards the neighbourhood where they were renting out their room. Before going, Scott promised Peter that he’d try to get in touch sometime soon so that they could watch Conan the Destroyer, one of the few Arnold movies left in existence which they hadn’t both already seen.

Peter and Mary Jane remained on the hillock for some time after, the warmth of her hand on his reassuring him even in the renewed absence of his good friend. Jolted by the mention of Arnold, Peter checked his phone and confirmed what he’d feared in the mall. _‘Damn it, Peter. How can you complain about friends if you’re such a bad one yourself?’_ Felicia’s text, which he’d received while at the arcade, simply asked him how he was doing; he’d made a mental note to reply as soon as he could, but time had gotten the better of him. _‘God, I suck.’_

He held his phone out for a moment, silently debating how he should word his postponed reply, when he felt MJ bumping her shoulder against his.

“Hey, Pete?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for the lamp.”

He put the phone down and smiled. “Anytime. Just your friendly, neighbourhood lamp repair guy doing his duty.”

“Oh? Do you have a union for that?”

“But of course. We usually strike during nights, though.”

“Ah, of course. I’ll have to write a column about that in the college gazette.” She reached out with her free palm, drawing an imaginary headline in the air. “‘Practical Sciences Student turns to Electronic Repairs – Is the End Nigh?’”

“Don’t forget about the strikes, that’s what’ll really get them.”

“Mhm. So is that what you’ve been doing these past few weeks ‘till late at night?” She raised an eyebrow to soften the blow. “Going on strikes?”

Peter winced, absent-mindedly squeezing her hand somewhat tighter. “Sorry about that, MJ. I’ve been a total mess, what with this assignment.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for, right?” She squeezed his hand back. “Still, I’m starting to think that Professor Warren’s all you think about these days.”

Peter guffawed. “Come on.” He suddenly felt her free hand on his shoulder and turned to look at her.

“Wanna prove it tonight?”

Peter almost swallowed like a nervous cartoon character as he looked into her green eyes.

This wasn’t his first bout with that final stage of intimacy with his girlfriend; far from it. Nor did the very thought of sex make his mind go numb, as he had been the one to postpone it for a while after she’d first brought it up all those months back, gripped as he’d been by a fear that the symbiote in his body might somehow adversely affect her in some way. He had even met with Dr Curt Conners again to go over blood tests to confirm that all seemed to be in perfect order before he had finally acceded to MJ’s proposal.

No, it wasn’t nervousness or anticipation that stunned him in moments like these, when she looked directly into his eyes like that.

It was simply that she was so damn beautiful that it almost hurt.

Peter smiled and leaned forward, gently conveying his reply with a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

For the entirety of the following week, Peter kept his Spider-Man activities to a minimum as he resolved to spend more time with MJ. Scott and Kitty withdrew into their ‘love nest’, as Mary Jane called it, but the former did find time on Thursday to grab dinner with him and watch Conan the Destroyer, both of them laughing and praising Arnold in turns in practically every scene. It was one of the few times when Peter got to see Scott without his sunglasses, owing to a medical condition he’d mentioned which made his eyes particularly sensitive to direct sunlight.

Peter did make an effort to get back in touch with Felicia and Harry, but his efforts were in vain as his childhood friend claimed to be too busy with work, while the latter told him he had a cold and would rather not risk infecting him with it. While he didn’t mind being able to spend even more time with his girlfriend, Peter was beginning to feel like the distance between himself and his old school friends was growing dangerously. He resolved to at least visit Felicia the following week, and they agreed to meet up on Sunday morning at her workplace in Queens.

While he waited across the street from the gym where she worked – the one incidentally belonging to her father – Peter felt a surprising fluttering of nervousness in his gut which took him aback. _‘Jesus, man. It’s just your childhood friend, right? It’s not like it’s been years since you’ve met up, just... two months? God…’_

Right on the allotted time, 11 AM sharp, Felicia stepped out the front door of the building she worked in. Peter gave her an awkward wave, for some reason unsure of how she would react to him. Her voice on the phone had seemed perfectly normal, but he still felt bad for all the times he had failed to reply to her calls or messages, or otherwise made little effort to see her again; he simply felt unsure as to how it had all taken a toll.

Waiting out on the street had somehow made him even more nervous, but he had felt it to be a safer alternative than risking meeting her father. During high school he had come to suspect that the man beat Felicia, never having fully believed her explanations about injuring herself while practicing some gymnastics routine or other due to the sheer regularity of her so-called accidents. Even if his suspicions turned out to be completely unfounded, he felt like he would have trouble hiding his feelings in front of the man.

As she approached with a cheerful wave, Felicia seemed to not only be genuinely happy to see him but also free of new casts or bandages. Her white hair fell down to just below her ears, the length it had always been kept at, and she was wearing torn dark jeans and a black sleeveless vest over a Nightwish t-shirt. Peter remembered that she had undergone something of a light punk rock phase after finishing high school, but the last time he had met her she had toned things down to the levels he now saw before him.

Peter waved back, his other hand nervously in his trouser pocket. There _was_ something there, something that hadn’t been between them during their high school days, but he knew exactly what it was – the barriers put up by time apart, barriers which he knew could be torn down if the people wishing to do so had a strong enough bond. Peter felt certain that the two of them did, having known her since childhood and not once having grown tired of her company. She had become like family, regularly stopping by the Parker household and sharing any of the day’s three meals with them, or otherwise just spending time with Peter playing videogames or watching movies. Seeing her again, Peter could affirm that it was all still there – the deep sense of friendship, the magnetic pull between them. He could just tell.

Nothing was broken. It had only been cracked by time.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled in an exaggeratedly nasal tone. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Felicia stopped a couple of steps in front of him and placed her arms on her hips expectantly.

Peter shrugged awkwardly, suddenly lost for a good retort. He could only imagine how goofy and apologetic his smile looked.

“Dude,” she said, taking a step back and holding him at arm’s length by his shoulders. “What’s up? Lost for words?”

“I mean…” Peter looked into her blue eyes for a moment and simply stammered, unable to stop a grin from forming. “Just what the hell is Nightwish?”

Felicia narrowed her eyes for a moment, then broke into laughter as she took a quick step and wrapped him in a tight hug, patting his back.

Overwhelmed, Peter hugged her back and returned the back pat. The contact didn’t feel unnatural, as he’d feared it would; it was like no time had passed at all.

“A few months apart and you become an uneducated boor, I see,” she said, stepping back and straightening out her t-shirt. “I see it’s time for your re-education. Or, rather, education.”

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“Come on,” she indicated down the street with her head. “Let’s walk.”

They made their way side-by-side down the sidewalk, which was relatively quiet for a sunny Sunday morning. Peter wondered if Felicia had any one specific goal in mind, but he was simply happy to be able to talk with her again.

“Nightwish,” she began, “is Finnish orchestral rock and the best thing since sliced cheese.”

“I thought you hated cheese.”

“Best thing since Commando, then.”

“Now that’s a high bar.” Peter smiled and nudged her arm with his elbow. “Speaking of which, I’ve been spreading the Cult of Arnold to ESU.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve already watched all your First and Second Tier choices with Scott Summers.”

“Scott Summers?” She frowned for a moment, then nodded. “The Teen Wolf guy?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I guess that’s who he’ll always be to you.”

“You usually hang out with him?” She led him around a corner, down a road Peter remembered for having a popular diner.

“Yeah. When I’m not with Mary Jane.” After a moment’s hesitation, Peter finally tackled the matter that had been weighing on him the most. “Look, Felicia, sorry you haven’t heard from me in so long…”

“Hey, come on.” She rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder against his. “Don’t make things weird. College is busy work, right? I get it, and that’s that.”

Peter nodded, hardly satisfied. He suddenly noticed that she no longer smelled of cigarettes as she had the last time they’d met up. There was something else there, perhaps some kind of perfume lingering over her old familiar scent. _‘Jesus, dude, let’s not get weird now.’_

Felicia separated herself from him and nodded down the road. “You hungry for brunch?”

“Sure,” he lied, having just recently eaten a healthy breakfast. Following her eyes, he saw that she was pointing at the diner he’d heard so much about, which he now recalled was called The Scorpion. “Is this where you usually go to hang out?”

“Every now and then,” she shrugged. “Certainly beats our old cafeteria lunches.”

“I think prison food’s better than what they served us there.”

“Here’s hoping,” she muttered, before jerking her head to look at him. “It’s not a particularly low bar, I mean.”

“Hah, yeah.” They stopped in front of a traffic light and, as they waited, he silently considered again bringing up the subject of their lack of contact so that he could better explain himself.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Startled by the sudden inquiry, he quickly thought of something completely different to gain more time. “Oh, just thinking. You seeing anyone now?”

Felicia raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Are we really pulling topics right out of Small-Talk 101 right now?”

Peter chided himself silently. “Sorry. What I meant to say is that we’ve sure been having nice weather this past week.”

Felicia laughed, just as the queue of cars began making space on the road for a police car to roar by, its sirens blaring. Peter’s gaze followed it as it vanished from sight, but more sirens were approaching from the distance.

“I stand defeated by your conversational prowess,” Felicia was saying, not paying any attention to the traffic. “No, I’m not seeing anyone. I haven’t even really made any new friends since we graduated. You’d think it’d be easier, working at a gym.”

“So who do you hang out with most days?” The light turned green and they crossed the street alongside the rest of the crowd.

“Uh, no one. My dad? Oh god, did I just say that? Kill me now.”

Peter wondered if he should stay on the topic, realizing that there was a certain sensitivity to it. As a moment of silence began to drag out, he decided to break it with a joke.

“No mutants coming to lift weights these days?”

“Mutants? Hah. My dad would get a stroke if some dude covered in blue fur came in to bench-press a whole table.”

“He doesn’t like mutants?” Peter was starting to believe that she had been serious about having little contact with anyone beyond her direct family.

“My dad? Hmm, they weird him out.”

Peter nodded. “Lot of people feel that way.”

“How do you feel about them?”

“About mutants?”

“Yeah.”

Peter was surprised by the sudden question and shrugged, unsure of how to reply. “I don’t mind them.”

She scrutinized him from the corner of her eye. “You tolerate them?”

“Tolerate?” He frowned, then glanced down the street as the wailing of further sirens grew louder and louder. “No, I… I mean I don’t mind them. They’re cool? I wouldn’t say tolerate, that sounds like I don’t like them.”

“Hmm.”

“Why?” He didn’t want ask how she felt about the issue, not wanting to turn their conversation into a political or societal one.

“Well… lately, lots of stuff-”

Felicia stopped talking abruptly as the distant sirens suddenly materialized on their street in the shape two more squad cars and two police vans loudly rushing down the same direction as the previous vehicle had. Peter’s curiosity turned to worry and, as even more sirens sounded in the distance, a sense of restlessness began rising within him. _‘Come on. Come on, not now.’_

“Wow,” Felicia said after lowering her hands, with which she had been shielding her ears. “Looks like something big is going down somewhere.”

“Yeah.” _‘Don’t do it. It would be rude, so fucking rude, to leave now. Just… let whatever’s going on over there happen, it doesn’t have to concern you…’_ “What do you think is going on?”

“No idea. A robbery?” She shrugged.

“Yeah…” _‘Please, just let it go, Peter. Let it go.’_

“Peter? You okay?”

Another police van turned the corner, and Peter gritted his teeth.

When he shut his eyes for a moment, he saw Uncle Ben smiling at him from the old living room couch.

_‘Fuck!’_

“Felicia,” he started, his heart in his throat as he wracked his brains for a believable excuse. “I’m sorry, I gotta go…”

“What?” From the confusion on her face, he could tell that she had heard his question well enough, even over the receding police vans’ sirens. “What’s wrong?”

Peter felt as if the last few words he’d uttered had already set him down a rigid path, obstructing any chance of backpedalling or weighing one evil against another. He felt a crushing weight on his heart, knowing that he couldn’t just shrug his words off as a joke. He’d made a choice, seemingly without having given it much thought. Now, all that remained was to forge ahead and deal with his decision.

“I… had an appointment, and I totally forgot…” He wasn’t thinking clearly, his day having been twisted around so rapidly in just the blink of an eye. “With Mary Jane…”

Felicia’s eyes widened for a moment and she said nothing.

_‘Fuck! Idiot, idiot! The doctor, the health inspector, anything would have been better than that! Idiot!’_

He tried to keep spinning the yarn, making a giant attempt at sounding natural. “It was a thing with the doctor, I promised I’d be there but I only now remembered...”

He could only imagine how much of an asshole he sounded like. Not to mention that lying to Felicia made him feel like he was covered from head to toe in some sort of grime.

His best friend narrowed her eyes and glanced across the street, then back at him. Her features were mostly neutral, but clearly featured disbelief and disappointment within them. _‘She knows I’m lying. Of course she knows! It’s her.’_

“Okay?” She dragged the word out. “Sounds serious, Peter. You’d better go.”

“I’m sorry, Felicia. Really.” One more squad car blazed down the street, and Peter firmly wished he had simply ignored them, had simply stepped into the diner with her. “My schedule’s a mess, I keep mixing things up-”

“Come on, man. It’s fine.” She forced a smile, but it was thin. “Some other time?”

“Yeah.” He took a step back and tried to smile himself, but he feared that it was wry and clearly false. “I’ll call you?”

“Sure.” She gave him a wave. “Say hi to Mary Jane for me.”

“I will!” He returned the wave as he ran down the street, every step feeling like a cold knife in his gut. “I’ll be in touch later today!”

Felicia seemed like she was about to say something more, but there was enough distance between them that she seemed to opt not to shout out.

Peter turned a corner and looked for the nearest alleyway, cursing himself with every passing second.

It wasn’t until three in the afternoon that Peter returned to the rooftop he’d webbed his belongings to.

Undoing the webbing, he picked up the wristwatch Uncle Ben had gifted him on his sixteenth birthday and dropped his head. He’d hoped that if he was fast enough he could get back to Felicia and claim that it had all been some sort of giant mix-up, or that he’d explained things to Mary Jane and then returned to the diner.

In retrospect, either choice would have made him come across as a total bastard. In fact, anything past ‘I have to go’ was going to sound bad no matter how you cut it.

“Stupid motherfucking robbers,” he whispered, feeling a rush of cool air on his skin as he retracted his suit.

The sirens had lead him into a large bank robbery, the first he had experienced in his ten or so months as a small-time crime-fighter, and it had been infinitely more laborious than he could have imagined. He had waited for the police to negotiate the release of most of the hostages, not wanting to interfere out of fear that his sudden appearance might get someone hurt. Only when the bank manager alone remained and the four robbers seemed to finally lower their guard in preparation for some pre-planned escape through the back did he finally slip in through the open sunroof and web them all up within seconds. A well-placed punch took care of the one who continued to struggle against the webbing like his life was on the line. Peter only later realized that depending on the severity of his past crimes, it well could have been.

The bank manager had seen the whole thing and had heaped thanks and praises on him, though that wasn’t enough to keep him around when the police finally burst in through the front door, demanding he get down on the floor. The fact that no one opened fire as he escaped back through the sunroof seemed to confirm his long-held belief that some commissioner at the NYPD had written a script that all policemen had to read out when encountering him, even if they were actually sympathetic towards his actions.

On his way out, Peter began to wonder if he had actually helped out in any way, shape or form, but reasoned that if nothing else he would at least get some positive press from the bank manager’s testimony. A few blocks later, he saw the shining form of Iron Man touching down on the steps to the bank, and he started to doubt that he would receive all that much mention after all.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered, checking his phone after putting his clothes on. There was one new message from MJ and one from Harry. He wondered why he had even expected to see anything from Felicia. His fingers hovered over the keys as he considered what he could write to her, and he gave up after realizing that there was nothing he could say that would have any significant sort of impact. He opted to simply apologize once more, but without mentioning the made-up doctor’s appointment; he was sick of lying to her.

Sitting down cross-legged on the rooftop, he sighed and reflected on how fucked up his whole Sunday had become because of a snap decision.

 _‘Seriously, did I do the right thing? The cops were right there… hell, I was only there because of all the damn sirens and SWAT cars.’_ Pigeons fluttered further down the rooftop and he stared at them vacantly while he pondered. _‘I couldn’t have ignored them… I don’t think I could have. I can’t pick and choose when I act… right? So what if the cops were there? There was a crime, I knew about it, so I was there. The cops just happened to be there too this time?’_

Peter felt unconvinced by his inner voice, but was calming down by the second. _‘I think… I did the right thing. It’s just… the circumstances were wrong. All wrong. By my own doing.’_

He should have made more of an effort to see Felicia in the past few months, so that his disappearance during their one reunion in weeks wouldn’t come as such a shock. He should have taken the time to come up with proper white lies with which he could spare the feelings of his friends and loved ones in hard situations like this one.

Or maybe that was all bullshit and, in truth…

…perhaps he simply ought to have told Felicia that he was Spider-Man?

Peter frowned, shaking his head. There had been so many times when he would have wanted nothing more than to tell her, or Mary Jane, or Scott, or Aunt May that he actually spent his nights fighting crime, fighting to help people around the city whenever he could just because he _could_. He was tired of lying to people whom he trusted implicitly.

At first, he had simply not thought that it would be necessary. Everyone had been so busy with finals in high school that they’d barely noticed his absence in the evenings. To Aunt May, he was at the public library, and to his friends and girlfriend he was at home studying.

It had only been during the first few months of college that he’d felt his alter ego as Spider-Man really beginning to drain on his time – on his life.

He managed to find the time after classes to be with Mary Jane and also occasionally hang out with Scott due to their close proximity, but that was practically it. Felicia, Harry, Aunt May... they may as well have been on the other side of the globe.

_‘That can’t have been right. It can’t have. I must’ve been fucking something up, making some sort of mistake in how I split up my time…’_

It had to have been some mistake he’d committed. Because if it wasn’t, it meant that being Spider-Man wasn’t just another activity that he could attach to the other ones in his life; it meant that it was a lifestyle which didn’t allow for any other ones. Not if he wanted to keep it a secret.

If he kept up these half-measures, he would be failing to live both his private and his crime-fighting lives properly. The way things were going, even if it didn’t immediately seem clear, he was plunging headlong into eventual disaster.

Peter hung his head and wished, not for the first time, that he had never been bitten by that spider.

Then, as always, he bitterly retracted the thought as he thought of his uncle’s corpse on the living room floor.

He was Spider-Man, just as much as he was Peter Parker.

The only possible way he saw to conform the two facts was to tell the truth to those closest to him.

The reason for keeping his identity a secret from the public had always been mercifully straightforward – he did it to protect his loved ones from any of his foes who might seek retribution, or who might otherwise seek to hurt him by targeting those closest to him. On the other hand, his reasons for keeping the secret from said loved ones was muddled at best.

He had long ago admitted that there were varying levels of fear involved. Fear that Aunt May would disapprove, fear that MJ would be horrified, fear that Felicia would become distant. As he’d hesitated to tell any of them, time had taken care of the rest. Weeks turned to months, and after half a year of indecision – of thinking that he could live both lives in tandem – he had become complacent with the lie, largely because its weight had grown with the months like some turgid parasite. What may have come as a shock to MJ after a week of dating would now be a major revelation due to their shared history.

_‘Despite it all – all the heroics, the crime-fighting – I’m really a coward. How long could I keep up this lie? Until I have a family with Mary Jane? Did I intend to take the truth with me to the grave?’_

His other reason had only been superficially selfless, and Peter only now realized that it was just another facet of his fear of doing what had to be done: he had not wanted to worry those whom he told the truth, hadn’t wanted them to fear for his safety. This excuse at least was somewhat acceptable in the case of Aunt May – especially factoring in her age and Uncle Ben’s death less than a year ago. But if he’d feared that Mary Jane would find the truth unbearable, why did he continue to live a lie with her?

_‘It’s time to face the music.’_

The decision was overdue – long, long overdue. But his bad choices had finally caught up to him that day like a wave of cold water.

Subconsciously, he felt himself relaxing somewhat, even as the enormity of his decision sent shivers of nervousness up his spine.

 _‘Felicia – I think she’d understand. And I think it would excuse my actions over the past few months.’_ Aunt May, he reasoned, would still be better off without knowing the truth. His argument about her worrying over him still stood – especially now that she was finally getting out more, even planning to visit some family in Colorado in the next few days. Scott and Harry, while good friends, did not urgently demand an explanation for his actions, especially since they kept plenty busy themselves.

As for MJ – he dreaded telling her the most. He had for months now come to believe that they loved each other, truly and strongly – but to have kept such a secret from her was a hideous act.

Peter suddenly hated himself for not having told her before they’d first made love.

The pigeons were beginning to grow bolder in his immobility, getting closer to investigate him, but retreated when he lifted a hand to stare at his palm.

_‘Ten months together, ten of the best months of my life – does it all really hinge on one sentence?’_

He had to tell her. He now knew this to be an absolute. But that knowledge didn’t lessen his trepidation in the slightest.

After a long moment he finally lowered his hand with a long, rattling breath.

_‘I’ll tell Felicia first – this coming week. I’ll meet with her, I’ll lay it all on the table. Maybe she can help me find the right words, the right way to go about this.’_

Standing up, he dusted off his legs and looked around. He wanted to go back to ESU, to spend some time with MJ – but it suddenly felt wrong. He felt like he simply didn’t have the right to be with her anymore until he laid the whole truth out before her.

The thought of calling Felicia and telling her everything right then and there crossed his mind, but the butterflies now dancing in his stomach felt as icy as death. He almost felt nauseous. _‘I definitely need a little time – at least a day to build up to this.’_

Sighing, Peter finally put away his phone and summoned up his suit again.


	5. Chapter 5

Kitty felt Scott’s heartbeat through the hand she lay on his chest, as she often did of late in the few mornings when she woke up normally from sleep, rather than gasping and thrashing. He was wearing the Metallica t-shirt that he usually combined with his boxers for sleepwear, and she traced the intricate patterns lining the fabric with her fingers. She remembered being at that concert with him, roughly a year ago. Just before they had started feeling the symptoms of their powers…

_‘My greatest worry then had been that some of the beer cups flying through the air might hit us. Now, my daily fears include no less than the United States government itself…’_

She had already thought over the idea of fleeing, though only superficially due to its extremity; she’d always felt that the day she seriously considered it would mark the end of a normal life as they knew it. Still, she’d mulled it over with Scott, and they’d casually thought of places where one could live a life without worrying about the state rounding people up. Other countries, with the exception of some Asian ones like Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea, were hardly any more tolerant towards this new mutant issue. What’s more, neither of them had ever so much as left the United States – their spring break had been spent at Yosemite National Park. Not to even mention how unreal the very concept of fleeing the country seemed, like it was the sort of thing usually limited to movies.

The plans for escape had indeed been superficial at best, and were always outweighed by their dreams, their plans. To get their degrees from ESU, find a job, move into a flat together and get married under a sunny sky...

Kitty suddenly felt a deep hatred towards anyone who had made her and Scott so much as entertain the idea of fleeing for their lives.

She wanted her fears to be irrational, her overactive imagination’s response to a rapidly-shifting world. But she had read too much history not to know how quickly normality could turn into nightmare for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t heed the warning signs. If only she knew why every fibre of her being was so repulsed by the concept of the Xavier Institute…

_‘Maybe just for the summer holiday, we could go on a trip to Canada…’_

Scott stirred, waking up some five minutes before their alarm clock went off, as he usually did. He blinked the sleep from his eyes in the dimly lit room and smiled at her, bringing one hand up to meet hers over his chest.

“Good morning,” he muttered. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah. So far so good, huh?”

After their uneventful morning lectures, the couple were on their way to the cafeteria when Kitty received a note from one of the students which asked her to meet an old friend behind the history department’s main building at ten past twelve. It had been intended to be passed along during the lecture, having been handed out before it had begun, but the student in question had not been keen on risking the lecturer’s ire. When Kitty, perplexed, had asked for a description of the person that come up with the note the girl had shrugged and told her it had been an older woman who claimed to know her. That only confused them more, and Scott had insisted on accompanying her.

As the two made their way in the opposite direction from where all the other students were heading Scott kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. By the time they stepped around the building in question, Kitty felt a sudden stab of fear at the total lack of people around them. While ESU’s campus grounds were large, the area immediately behind the history building simply consisted of a narrow space flanked by a crumbling wall, beyond which were the trees marking the borders of the university’s vast park.

They waited for a few minutes past the allotted time, but no one seemed to be coming.

“Kitty,” Scott whispered, “this is weird. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Nodding, she was about to agree when an individual’s sudden appearance from behind a tree further down the rear of the building startled her.

The person in question was a lean woman with short red hair. Her clothing was plain, consisting of casualwear like that worn by countless other bystanders on the street.

Kitty had no recollection whatsoever of the woman. She was sure of it, even at this distance.

“Kitty Pryde!” The woman called out in a New Jersey accent. “It’s been ages!”

Scott noticed her lack of response and took a step forward. “Do you know this woman?”

“No.”

“Let’s go.”

They turned around and Kitty felt something like an icy claw gripping her stomach as she saw the three men who had suddenly appeared behind them, barring their exit. Two of them lacked any features of real note, but the one in the middle, his short black hair almost linking up with his goatee, stared at them with such blue-eyed intensity that she wanted to get as far away from his as possible.

_‘Oh no.’_

Glancing over her shoulder, Kitty saw that the red-haired woman was walking towards them, now flanked by a man in a cowboy hat and a white-haired woman. All six of them were wearing similarly plain, drab clothes.

“No,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She could feel Scott’s arm hovering protectively over her back as he stared at the men before them. _‘This isn’t happening! No!’_

“It’s not nice to keep old friends waiting,” the man with the goatee drawled in an unabashedly Slavic accent. “Especially kind old ladies.”

“You don’t look like an old lady to me,” Scott said, almost successfully hiding the fear in his voice. “Whatever this is, we’re leaving here.”

The man laughed, a surprisingly warm sound that contrasted with his icy stare. “Scott Summers?”

Scott glanced back at the trio behind them, who had stopped approaching some fifteen metres away, then at the man with the goatee. He didn’t reply as he removed his crimson sunglasses.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” the man continued. “Just Ms. Pryde here. We try to be as low-key as possible.”

“Who are you?” Kitty yelled out, finally finding her voice. Her heart was racing as her stomach continued to roil in cold terror.

“We’re with the police. We have some questions for you both.”

“Bullshit!” She yelled as loudly as she could, hoping that someone would hear her. “That’s a load of crap, you’re not cops!”

The men in the back seemed poised to move as she raised her voice, but the goateed speaker raised a gloved hand to stop them.

“Please, Ms. Pryde.” He smiled in an attempt to seem disarming. “We just have some questions regarding your burgeoning mutations.”

“W-We’re not-”

“You were seen at a mall some six weeks back, moving through solid matter. We have a witness. All we want to do is help point you in the right direction before you hurt someone with these powers. That’s why we’ve cleared the area.”

Kitty stammered, suddenly remembering the exact moment he was talking about. During a regular visit to the mall with her friends, she had leaned against a bin and accidentally phased through it, falling to the floor and knocking it over. She had laughed it off with her friends as a moment of goofiness, but the thought of witnesses had haunted her for weeks and had marked the start of her and Scott’s self-imposed isolation.

“Take your time,” the man said. “Talk it over. We’re just trying to help you here.”

She stared at the ground, unsure if anything she said would get her out of this situation. All her fears from the previous weeks seemed to coalesce into this one moment as she gripped her book case over her chest with a steel grip.

“Kitty,” Scott whispered, his voice surprisingly composed. “You know what’s happening here. We both know.”

Collecting herself, she looked up into his squinting hazel eyes and nodded.

“I’m gonna hit these guys with… with a blast. I don’t know how well I can direct it, but…”

“What? Scott, these people are Xavier Institute-”

“No they’re not,” he snapped quietly. “Why didn’t they just knock on our door? Why all the subterfuge? These guys are just mercs, contractors…”

“But you’ve never…”

“As soon as I shoot, you go. You run for it.” He glanced at the building to their right, then at the wall and the trees to their left. She knew what he was thinking. She doubted she could phase through either wall properly in such a panic, especially without knowing what was on the other side.

“Scott!” Kitty hissed, dropping her book case to the ground with a thud and grabbing his left arm. She suddenly felt a different kind of fear, one separate from the terror of being captured. “We’re in this together, we’ll get through this together! I’m not leaving you!”

Scott gazed into her eyes for a long moment. She noticed for the first time that he had clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Stay low, I’ll have to hit the ones behind us to. We make a run for the market…”

“You’ve had time to talk,” the man with the goatee called out, interrupting their whispering. “It looks to me like you plan to fight and run. I would advise you against it – the law is on our side.” He crossed his arms, and Kitty noticed that the two men standing behind him were reaching behind their backs. “Final warning. Come along peacefully.”

Scott, not taking his eyes off the man, shot Kitty a sideways glance.

Tensing her muscles, she prepared to duck just before he could fire the beam-

He suddenly gasped, taking a stumbling step forward as a small metallic object hit the back of his neck. Her eyes widening in horror, Kitty glanced back at the red-haired woman and saw her holding a pistol of some kind. She was loading what looked like a dart into it.

“S-Scott-” she stammered as he fell to one knee, apparently struggling not to collapse wholesale on the ground. “Scott!”

“Kitty,” he whispered sharply, struggling to keep his eyes open while glancing up as the three men began marching towards them. “Phase your body… immaterialise.”

“Wh-”

“Do it!” he roared, his eyes suddenly opening wide.

Kneeling by his side in a cold sweat, Kitty let go of Scott’s arm and willed her body into immateriality, just as she so often had practiced on apples and other objects in their apartment room. It was as simple as a focused thought, almost banal.

For a split second, she feared she might fall through the ground and disappear into the void below.

Instead, she vaguely perceived a small dart flying harmlessly through her neck and almost hitting the goateed man in the leg. The approaching trio hesitated.

Without another sound, his teeth pressed together by the effort, Scott lifted himself up and fired a beam of pure crimson energy at the men. Kitty could only stare in shock as it hit the rightmost one, sending him flying backwards several metres with a thud. She knew that he was still alive – Scott could somehow will the intensity of the beam with just a thought. The acrid smell of something burning almost immediately wafted up to them, and the remaining two men dove to the ground as Scott tried to hit them as well.

She could tell at a glance that something was very wrong. The beam seemed to be flickering irregularly, and Scott seemed to be having trouble just controlling it. The beams that failed to hit their targets also seemed to largely disperse after a certain distance, though they still had enough power to deeply scar the history building’s wall.

 _‘That dart.’_ She looked at the small metal object lying at her feet, where it had fallen after the first beam had been fired. _‘A tranquilizer or – or…’_

“Stay down,” Scott suddenly hissed, barely managing to get the words out as he strenuously turned about, for a moment deactivating the beam.

The two women and one man behind them had stopped their approach as the first beam had been fired, and all three of them dove to the ground as the struggling mutant lit up the space above them in sporadic flashes, the far wall of the park taking the hits instead and partially crumbling to the ground. He seemed to anticipate their response and aimed his gaze downwards, hitting the one man’s right arm and sending him into a fit of growling and moaning.

“Kitty,” Scott gasped, willing off the sporadic beams and bringing a hand up to his eyes as he shut them tight. “Now-”

The goateed man was upon him from behind so quickly that she didn’t even have time to yell out before Scott was struck in the back of the head by some kind of large baton. She blanched as she saw his head jerk sickeningly and he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Kitty barely even noticed the hand that reached that reached for her neck, only to instead pass right through her.

Blood was pooling on the ground below Scott’s head.

“No,” she whispered, all the breath gone from her body. “Please…”

A hand reached down to grab Scott by the shoulder, and suddenly it was like all her senses flared up into one raging wildfire.

“Get away!” Kitty screamed shrilly, scrambling forwards and crouching protectively over the unconscious body like an angry tigress. Only then, as she looked about through eyes blurry with tears and mad with desperation, did she notice that they were surrounded by the goateed man and the two women. She fixed her eyes on the former, the terror in her now replaced by something completely different. “Touch him and I’ll rip your heart right out of your chest!”

The goateed man stared at her impassively, his hair a tangled mess and his clothes coated in dirt. Behind him, the man with the injured arm was checking on the first man hit by a beam, who was now showing signs of life.

With a sigh, the man who could only be the leader of the group reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small pistol. Kitty’s body tensed as she prepared to leap at him, but froze as he quickly pointed the weapon at Scott’s head.

“Attack us and he dies. Stay like that, and he also dies. He needs immediate medical attention.” The man smiled; a sad, bitter sight. “As for running off… I don’t think I need to warn you. I can see that you won’t.”

Kitty looked down at Scott, at the small shifts in the sand below his mouth that marked his breathing. She reached out for him, but her hand simply phased through his shoulder.

“Do the right thing,” the man said. Though his voice was now softer, he didn’t lower the pistol.

Kitty suddenly felt drained, all the panic, desperation and rage seeming to evaporate alongside the adrenaline in her body. She felt powerless, but not because she thought she could not overcome her foes. It was the sight of Scott, lying on the ground like he was on the verge of death itself that had robbed her of her breath and her willpower, practically winding her like a violent whiplash.

“I could kill you all,” she whispered hollowly, her hand still trying to feel Scott’s shoulder. He had told her as much in the past on multiple occasions; that she was probably one of the strongest mutants in existence. She could remain immaterial so that no one could so much as touch her, while she could kill a man just by reaching into his chest and materialising her hand. She had seen what phasing in while inside an object did to it, creating some sort of vast energy from who-knows-where and pushing aside all that stood be in her way. Like a ghost – untouchable, undefeatable. Inescapable.

The apples had burst like bags of confetti…

Scott had held her that morning, told her not to be afraid. He’d assured her that they’d see through whatever may come together.

There had been warmth in his touch, his eyes, his smile…

Kitty lifted her hand, materialised and brought it back down. She gently brushed his arm.

Almost instantaneously, a dull pain emanated from her neck and she crumpled forward, her head resting on the ground by Scott’s leg. The tranquilizer didn’t seem to take effect immediately, but she could feel a deep exhaustion steadily overcoming her more and more with each passing second. There was a terrible disconnect between her waking mind and her cold and unresponsive limbs.

Faceless voices argued above her, distant and confused.

“Tell me what that was, Natasha. Right fucking now.”

“The dosage was for her… we didn’t expect the boyfriend to be here, much less that he was a mutant.”

“We’re not amateurs and that’s no excuse. Look at this. Look around you! What a disaster. If anyone heard or saw anything…”

“We made sure that wouldn’t happen.”

“We’ll see. Fuck me sideways. This is why I never take on mutants without knowing everything. Every last detail. He could have killed us all if not for the tranq.”

“I don’t think he was shooting to kill.”

“Medevac in five, sir.”

“Good. Go check on Dan and Aleksei. I want us ready to leave ASAP.”

“Look at them. Just look at them. What are we doing this for, Sergei?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Natasha.”

“Look, she’s still conscious. She can hear us. That last dosage was a mess.”

“She’s a fighter. They both are.”

“Didn’t help them much here, did it?”

“They’ll have their day.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Kitty felt her thoughts drifting as the voices finally faded into an undecipherable mess.

For the first time in months, she knew for a fact that her sleep would be free of terrors – if only because she suspected that the nightmares would this time be waiting upon her awakening.


	6. Chapter 6

As Tuesday dawned over ESU’s dorms, slowly but steadily ripping tired students into a new day of lectures, Peter found himself utterly taken aback by the morning news that greeted him as part of his groggy daily ritual.

The city’s mayor, in an official press release that received no comment from the Xavier Institute or the NYPD, publicly thanked Spider-Man for his help in stopping the bank robbers. Incredulous, Peter tried to blink the sleep from his eyes as he read the title multiple times over, but it remained unchanged. _‘Okay, what is this? There’s got to be a catch here somewhere.’_

It seemed like bundles of explosives had been found installed in various parts of the bank, with a timer set for when the police stormed the building. According to testimonies, the robbers had set it all up to either confuse the cops and allow for their escape, or otherwise take them down with them; they weren’t so much simple bank robbers as total nutjobs craving mayhem. The police’s slow, methodical process would have ended in disaster, the mayor claimed, and it was only Spider-Man’s – _Spider-Man’s!_ – intervention that made the whole thing go as smoothly as it had.

The mayor reiterated that, while he didn’t generally endorse vigilantes, he had to acknowledge that in this occasion New York’s most famous one had saved the city a lot of potential tragedy.

Peter could only stare agog at the article, taking in every word several times over. In almost a year of swinging around the city and averting robberies, hijackings, drug deals, potential murders, and just a myriad of other things he had not once received thanks in an official, public statement. Sure, there had been the occasional fluff piece written about him in some positive light, Mysterio regularly sang his praise while speculating on his origins, and many posters on forums and other sites seemed to like him. But something like this… it was big.

Leaning back in his creaky second-hand swivel chair, Peter grinned contentedly, savouring the emotions welling within him. _‘Finally! Finally, someone says something good! Ahaha, yes!’_ Only then did he truly realize that for all these months he had somehow come to accept a reality in which the city would deride him without end, no matter how much he tried to help people. To actually see something he considered part of a best-case scenario become reality gave him an enormous boost of energy and contentment.

After basking in the victory for a moment longer he finally clapped his hands and, leaning in closer to his computer, closed the news website before the urge to read the article’s comments overtook him. _‘Doing that’s never a good idea, that’s for sure.’_ He tried reading some more national and global news, but the spike of energy from the previous article made it hard for him to focus too much on them. Before closing his browser he took a look through the university gazette’s website, where Mary Jane was a chief editor. There was a brief article on the gas explosion at the old history building, but other than that nothing of great interest.

As he got dressed for the day, Peter felt like he finally had the resolve to do that which he had been building up his strength for. Pulling out his phone, he texted Felicia whether she was free to meet up that evening so that they could talk. The message sent, he felt a swell of confidence and resolve.

_‘Things are looking up. Finally.’_

Felicia didn’t reply to Peter’s message until lunchtime, but when she did it was to tell him that she had plans for the evening and would be unavailable. Overcoming his disappointment, he quickly replied that it was fine and tried to arrange a meet-up for the following day. Her reply was quick, but unpromising, reading that she wasn’t sure if she could but that she would get back to him.

Peter worried that his friend felt more betrayed by his attitude on the weekend than he’d feared, but he took the fact that she was replying at all as hope that not all was yet lost. Still, the sudden inability to move ahead with his plan to resolve the issue of his secret identity dampened his moods somewhat. After spending his lunchtime with MJ he politely refused a suggestion for a dinner date, claiming he had one last chance to finish an assignment. He was trying his best to maintain a slight distance from her until he could say what needed to be said, but realized that such a strategy also carried a chance of blowing up in his face. _‘If I can’t talk to Felicia tomorrow either, I’ll just have to tell MJ first. I’ll wing it… or maybe I shouldn’t? I should probably practice in front of the mirror a bit first…’_

In order to take his mind off the ordeals to come, Peter opted to don the suit a good deal earlier than he usually did, heading out just past four in the afternoon. He couldn’t help but wonder if his appearance over the streets that day might be received differently in light of the mayor’s press release, and much to his joy he wasn’t disappointed. As he swung around Brooklyn looking for trouble, not having visited that area in some time, he saw and heard a good deal more people cheering him on from the streets than he usually did, which wasn’t a particularly high bar. He had half a mind to go down and interact with some of them, but thought that that might only serve to ruin his image if he botched things up royally. He did wave back and perform some superfluously intricate acrobatics, though. He just couldn’t help himself.

Two hours of swinging about went by without any incident, and he was about to head back to his belongings to take an early dinner break when he caught sight of a couple of youths trying to break into an apartment through a fire escape. After carefully confirming that they were most certainly not trying to break into their own house after having locked themselves out – such an embarrassing incident having been the case once before in his early months – he swooped in from above and took aim mid-swing.

It sometimes astonished Peter how true the refrain was that practice makes perfect. Ten months prior he would never have been able to pull off two such shots while rapidly swinging like a mad pendulum; he would have had to drop behind them, perhaps on the fire escape’s railing, and made some quip or other to contain his nervousness while he took careful aim.

He doubted that the would-be robbers even saw him as they were both webbed to the same window they’d been trying to get in through while Peter kept moving in an upwards motion, changing his angle so as to go down to the main street. Naturally, not every incident happened so efficiently and quickly – he still regularly had to get his hands dirty. But with every passing success he could feel himself getting just a bit better at what he did.

Once on the street, he was lucky enough to soon find a cooperative bystander who seemed overjoyed rather than frightened to see him land on the asphalt just a few metres away. Once he’d gotten the man to call the police on the would-be-burglars and heard out the report he gave the man a thumbs-up and with a practiced motion webbed his way back up into New York’s murky skies.

_‘The Spider-Man part of my life is getting better and better. Now, if I could only get the Peter Parker part right, we’d be golden.’_

After getting a shockingly greasy burger for dinner, Peter once again donned the suit and started on his way towards Queens. While this would have been a good opportunity for a surprise visit to Aunt May’s new house, he knew she had already left that morning on a flight to Colorado to visit some relatives. He felt good about how her life was turning out as of late. She seemed far more proactive and happy in her new home, which was so similar to their previous one and lay in the same general area. Despite the similarities in appearance and location, he had never questioned her decision to move – Aunt May had suffered terribly with the memories of the break-in and Uncle Ben’s murder at their old home.

A couple more hours had passed, with night falling over Queens, before Peter caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye that instantly grabbed his attention. He’d been swinging by so fast that he’d almost missed it: a rope leading from the edge of an apartment’s top floor rooftop down to one of the balconies below, the glass door ever so slightly ajar.

 _‘Damn, what are the odds?’_ He hefted himself up to an adjacent rooftop and quietly analysed the situation. _‘This has to be that same burglar from before. The Black Cat. I’m just sure of it – who else has been using such cliché cat-burglar techniques in the past weeks?’_

If he had learned anything from his last encounter with the Black Cat, it had been not to rush into a confrontation with her. The woman had dodged all his webs with lucky moves that beggared belief – in fact, he didn’t at all believe that fortune could smile so broadly on any one person. _‘A mutant power of some sort. She never even saw what she was dodging, she just moved in ways that guaranteed she wouldn’t get hit.’_

He had brainstormed their last encounter multiple times while lying on his dorm bed or swinging around the city, but it was still such a bizarre ability – as opposed to the more concrete ones like the power of flight or creating ice from one’s fingertips – that he had had some trouble thinking of a way to counteract it. How did one combat a wealth of genuine, honest to God luck?

_‘First step is to be patient. Don’t just bumble into her like last time. Take your time, observe. Then act. As for when the fighting starts…’_

Peter had only been able to come up with one solution, after discarding the ridiculous idea that his regularly-awful luck could somehow counteract her fortunes: he had to create a situation in which luck played no factor whatsoever. If he could do that, the Black Cat would essentially be powerless.

 _‘Easier thought than done.’_ Luck could factor into just about anything, depending how far you stretched the timeline in which it was involved. If he tried to web up her exit, maybe his suit would suddenly malfunction, or an attempt to call the police to surround the building would be thwarted by a faulty phone line?

Peter shook his head. _‘That’s too extreme. She could conquer the world or avert another meteor strike on the planet if that were the case. No, there has to be some sort of limit, something like personal luck as opposed to universal luck. She should still be able to step into an unlucky situation, even with her powers, and then her luck might be cancelled out…’_

Screwing his eyes shut for a moment, he cleared his mind of his musings. _‘I’m so tired to the word ‘luck’ right now.’_ Looking up at the rooftop, he ascertained that this time she had entered the apartment in question from above, through the rooftop.

That was where he’d lay his trap.

Swinging onto the rooftop as quietly and surreptitiously as he could, he began webbing up patches of the ground in a large pattern around the spot the rope lead up to. He left small gaps untouched, creating enough space for a person to dance through if they were lucky enough. Afterwards, he had a quick look around and located the second rope he had expected to find, located on the far side of the rooftop. Once he felt satisfied by his preparations, he hid behind the ventilator sticking out of the rooftop’s centre and waited. _‘Either she’ll get lucky and dodge my punches or she’ll luck out and evade all the webs. But both at the same time?’_

It didn’t take long at all for the thief to make her appearance, mere minutes after Peter had finished his preparations. She was wearing the same undeniably cute cat-eared hoodie and gear as she leaped up the rope in one agile move, looking about alertly. _‘Black Cat, cat hoodie, cat burglar… I really dig her dedication to the theme. Really sucks she’s on the wrong side of the law.’_ Peter suddenly realized that this was the third time he was fighting against a mutant criminal, if Frederick Dukes could be counted as such.

The Black Cat extracted the rope and tucked it into her backpack, then moved as if to make her way down towards the rooftop’s interior when she suddenly froze. Standing upright and alert like a wary animal, she carefully scanned the entire surface, her gleaming blue eyes darting about suspiciously. Peter felt certain that if his suit were any other colour than black she would have seen his head peeking out from behind the ventilator. The same applied for the patches of webbing on the dark ground, which could actually be made out if one looked carefully enough.

Taking a deep breath, Peter decided to act before she could catch on.

Dashing out from behind the ventilator, he ran straight at her without indulging in quips; he remembered how well that had gone for him the last time. He didn’t bother shooting off any webs, recalling how trivially she could dodge them.

The Black Cat seemed momentarily startled by his appearance but held her ground, her instincts appearing to keep her from moving from her spot. She straightened her back and tensed up, seemingly preparing herself for his approach.

 _‘She could clear the webs with a leap if she knew where they were. Which is why…’_ His one ace in the hole was that his webs held no traction whatsoever on him as long as he wore the suit; he could simply run through his minefield like there was nothing there. Within a few quick strides he was upon her, but she had still not moved from the spot. Just before they engaged, he could clearly see the total lack of fear or nervousness in her eyes.

The Black Cat dodged the first few blows just by bobbing and weaving about, even evading a punch to the gut by arching her back and tucking in her stomach in a surprising display of flexibility. When she was finally forced to take several light steps to dodge him, she only ever stood on patches of the ground clear of webbings.

_‘Dammit! I knew I should’ve just webbed up the whole damn rooftop. She can’t be this lucky!’_

The cat burglar kept avoiding all his punches, though some of his attacks did manage to at least brush against her outfit’s soft fabric. She refrained from striking back at him in the slightest, seemingly having learned her lesson the last time she had attempted to do so.

For several seconds they danced about, the mutant neither stepping on any of the webs nor receiving any of Peter’s blows.

Frustration was building within him steadily, and he wished he could vent it with some jape or other. Luckily, after around half of minute of this fruitless exchange he noticed that the blue eyes beneath the balaclava were trying to blink away beads of sweat, and he could just barely make out the sound of laboured breathing. _‘This is it. Didn’t factor this in, but this is it! If her powers won’t let her just run away while she has to keep dodging me, it’ll all boil down to stamina.’_

For the first time since they first clashed, Peter saw a glint of uncertainty in her azure eyes.

It only took a few more seconds for human instinct to run its course. Desperation in an untenable situation gave rise to a gamble, and the odds were simply stacked against the Black Cat. Instead of trying to dodge aside from another of his strikes she tried to dodge away from it, to finally create some distance and breathing space between them. She seemed to realize her mistake just a split second before her boot touched the ground, but by then it was too late. With that one motion she was suddenly rooted to the ground, her entire body entirely still as she glanced down to confirm her fears.

“Ahaha… phew,” Peter wheezed, trying to catch his breath as he leaned his hands on his knees. “Gotcha! I got you, Black Cat. Justice prevails!”

After having taken a moment, he looked up again and saw that the cat burglar hadn’t pulled out some secret gadget or tried an insane stunt in a renewed attempt to escape. She simply stared at him silently with cold, hard eyes. _‘Damn, just who is this woman? She never made so much as a noise while we fought, now she won’t even dish out hurtful comments about my mother?’_

“What,” he said, “no post-match review?”

The Black Cat finally closed her eyes and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Well, I guess I’ll take what I can get. If you’ll just hold your hands out like this,” he placed both wrists together in front of him, “we can get that out of the way…”

The mutant, while no longer glaring at him with as much intensity as before, kept her arms hanging by her sides. Peter considered simply going for the old tried and true ‘train track villain’-style webbing, but somehow felt too bad for the woman to go about it.

He raised his hands in a mock placating gesture. “Okay, fine. You win. Even in defeat, victory is yours.” He stretched his arms, his knees and elbows aching slightly from having been bobbing and weaving about for so long. “I’ll just take that bag off you and we can call the cops.”

Walking around to stand behind her, he noticed that even her backpack had a little sticker of a black cat stuck to it.

“Can I just say,” he added, looking for the zipper, “I really dig the whole theme you’re going for here. Seriously, it’s great, it puts me to shame. I’m starting to think I should make my suit all spider-like, dunno if the symbol alone conveys-” He stopped talking as he saw a sudden bright light in the night sky, and the ears on Black Cat’s hoodie fluttered slightly in the wind as she turned her gaze towards it.

_‘Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Tell me that’s not what I think it is.’_

Even in the gloom of night, he could make out the reddish glint heading straight towards them.

The cat burglar suddenly writhed about violently in an attempt to free her boot, but gave up upon realizing that it was futile. Peter moved back around to stand before her. He felt conflicted by a tumult of emotions. _‘That’s Iron Man, no doubt about it. Same Iron Man who tried to kick my ass rather than so much as say hi. Coming right this way. The obvious choice would be to get the hell out of dodge and let him take this criminal in. Everyone wins. Simple, right?’_ He glanced over his shoulder at the Black Cat and, for the first time that night, saw genuine fear in her blue eyes. _‘Not so simple. Iron Man’s never gone easy on a criminal, even when he had the chance to do so. People even joke about that. And this girl’s not just a criminal, but a mutant. A mutant cat burglar. Why does it feel so wrong to even consider just leaving her here?’_

Even though almost every fibre in Peter’s body screamed for him to just get the hell out of there, instead he simply stood his ground and sighed heavily.

_‘Goddammit. I’m just so goddamned tired of hard choices.’_

Within mere seconds he was upon them. Using engines in his armoured gauntlets and boots to lower himself to the rooftop’s centre while illuminating the area with a shoulder-lamp, Tony Stark looked more like a flying fortress than a flying knight.

“Well now,” a distorted, electronic voice said behind the angular golden mask, the two blue slits that passed for eyes seeming to flash brightly. “What have we here? A couple of renegades stealing about in the night?”

Peter glanced at the Black Cat, who was nervously looking at the armoured man with wide-open eyes, then back towards Tony Stark.

Steeling himself, Peter tried to keep his voice from cracking. “I’m Spider-Man-”

“I’m Iron Man,” the metallic voice interrupted harshly, taking several thundering steps towards them. “You two are under arrest.”

“I averted a crime here,” he insisted, feeling his heart racing ever faster. “I’m bringing this woman in to the police.”

Iron Man stopped, and for the first time Peter appreciated just how enormous the suit was, well over two metres in height.

“That’s not how I see it,” the voice boomed. “I see two probable mutants who’ve refused state legislation to report in to the Xavier Institute, and you’re at the scene of a crime. Doesn’t get any more straightforward than this. You’re both coming with me.”

Peter took a step back, almost bumping into the cat burglar. “I’m not a criminal. You’re as much a vigilante as I am!”

“OS, run voice analysis.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t talking to you, pipsqueak.” The metallic behemoth raised its hands, their palms lighting up brightly. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d resist. You’ve been a blight on this city for long enough.”

 _‘That settles it, this guy’s nuts. I can’t leave her here with him.’_ His mind made up, Peter took another step back and glanced at the Black Cat, surreptitiously looking into her eyes. As his foot touched the webbing that glued her boot to the ground he willed the suit to absorb it back. Her expression betrayed a brief flash of confusion, then understanding.

“Okay,” he called out, slowly raising his hands. “I surrender. I don’t want to fight.”

The armoured billionaire kept his palms outstretched towards him, then lowered them and took several booming steps forwards while extracting some kind of thick metal cuffs that were magnetised to his thigh.

“Smart cho-” he began, only to fall silent as both his boots abruptly got stuck on the spot.

Peter didn’t even have to give the Black Cat a signal; she was bounding off towards her escape route the moment Stark looked down at the minefield of webs below him. Taking off after her so as to leap off the roof from as far away as possible, Peter started to feel like the cheap trick might have been enough to get them out of the situation. He felt surprised by how right it had felt to help a criminal escape from Iron Man, but he pushed the thoughts aside until a later time.

Unfortunately, their head start was meagre at best.

With the loud grinding sound of tearing cement, Iron Man simply blasted off from the rooftop, taking a part of it with him under his boots. Arcing his way down towards them like a bird of prey, he stretched out his gloved palms even as they emitted a terrible radiance.

Peter threw himself backwards, dodging the kinetic blast by a hair’s breadth.

The Black Cat wasn’t so lucky.

Her scream of pain, the first time Peter fully heard her voice, echoed throughout the rooftop as she was flung across it like a ragdoll, almost outright toppling over the side. He didn’t see where she had been hit, but the force alone with which she struck the cement looked like it could have broken some of her bones. _‘Bastard!’_ Iron Man reversed his arc into another rise as he slowly descended back towards her.

Suddenly abandoning his plans at escape, Peter fired several bursts of webbing at the armoured suit, catching Stark completely by surprise. He managed to web his arms to his torso and took several pot-shots at the engines being fired from his boots, but was unsurprised to see the latter being burnt up rather than blocking off the exhausts.

When he ran over to the Black Cat, she was trying her best to stand back up. Her left arm was clearly broken and her laboured wheezing indicated that her ribs had been injured. The balaclava had been partially pulled away, revealing a cheek stained in blood, but her hoodie seemed to have been secured to her chin or neck because it had remained firmly in place.

Peter stood before her, looking up at the hovering man as he tore aside the webs around his arms with shocking ease.

“What was that about not being a criminal?”

“You’re insane!” Peter could hardly feel any more fear beneath the anger boiling up within him. “You could have killed her!”

“I think that’s a professional hazard for your like.”

“Fuck you!”

“Cute.” The faceless industrialist remained in the air, this time opting not to risk touching down on the rooftop. “Seems clear as crystal to me that you two are working together. If you’ll now be so kind as to stand still, I promise it’ll only hurt when you wake up in the hospital.”

Peter looked back over his shoulder to see the Black Cat struggling to stand up. _‘At least she can still move.’_ When she met his gaze, she simply stared at him with eyes completely distinct from the ones he’d seen during their fight.

“Go, Cat Lady,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “I’ll distract him, you get the hell out of here.”

The woman offered him a silent, wide-eyed blink, then quickly nodded.

“You know I can hear everything you say, right?” Iron Man once more raised his palms towards them both. “This suit can do a little more than just ruin criminals’ days.”

“We’ll see about that,” Peter hissed, and opened fire.

Stark was fast, dodging past the initial volley of webs but, as Peter had initially suspected, he wasn’t all that fast. As the projectiles came flying at him one after another he eventually landed several hits. Kinetic blast were shot at him in return, but Peter found it easy enough to dodge them as he moved.

The armour must have had absolutely ridiculous servos within it – if any joints were hit, all it took was for them to move in almost any direction to tear themselves free. Still, the moment it took for them to do so slowed down the entire suit by ever so little, always enough for Peter to dive or jump his way to safety while resuming fire. Due to the large armoured pauldrons protecting the suit’s shoulders he had some trouble hitting his intended main target – the helmet. Still, with every shot he improved his aim somewhat.

Peter glanced about the rooftop just in time to see the Black Cat shoot him one last look before disappearing down her second escape route. He felt a heavy weight falling off his shoulders, even if it was only one created by the sudden crisis situation. He didn’t care that he had just helped a criminal and attacked a man who purportedly had the law, if not even the whole city behind his back. His course of action had been clear, and he regretted nothing.

 _‘Now I just need to get the hell out of here…’_ He could tell that he wouldn’t be able to take down Stark’s suit of armour, at least not under the current circumstances. He had been caught totally unawares, the location was not optimal for him, and the thing was strong as hell despite being a lot slower than he’d anticipated. A small part of him reasoned that there was sure to be some kind of a way to take him down, just as there had been with the Brooklyn Abomination. But he didn’t like jumping into a fight half-cocked and out of breath from a previous one, so escape definitely seemed like the only sensible alternative.

Finally, one of his shots found its mark and hit the helmet dead-centre. Stark yelled out and flailed in the air as he tried to clear the webbing from his visor with a bulky glove. Peter grinned, blinked sweat from his eyes and quickly made his way over the nearest edge. The wind buffeted him as he freefell for a good few seconds, the sight of the streets below flying up to meet him no longer freezing his blood in terror. Once he felt he’d fallen far enough he carefully aimed a web and fired it, hurtling down the street with nauseating speed.

From the moment he’d hit Iron Man’s visor to him swinging down the third block from the building they’d fought on he doubted that more than five seconds had passed. While Stark had been relatively slow in turning and dodging, Peter knew that he could fly fast as hell in a straight line, if the videos online were anything to go by. Making several sharp turns, he put several more blocks between himself and the billionaire before finally attaching a web to the roof of a newsstand and propelling himself downwards into a small alley. Surrounded by reeking garbage containers and piles of discarded newspapers, he sat heavily on the ground and dropped his head, trying to catch his breath and stop his hands from shaking.

_‘Good job, Peter. Tonight you made yourself an enemy of the public, helped a wanted criminal escape into the night, and are going to spend the next twenty minutes surrounded by rats and trash. All in all, things are going just as you planned, huh?’_

Police sirens could be heard from all directions after a few minutes, but he knew well enough where they were heading. He hoped that the ever-silent Black Cat had made it out of there okay – the thought of wishing for her escape from even the regular police no longer seemed strange to him in the slightest. _‘When billionaires fly around in suits of armour that cost as much as a small nation with the intent of beating the snot out of you, I think you’ve earned whatever you grabbed in that apartment, lady.’_ He began to wonder if he could even bring himself to fight her again, should they have another encounter. _‘I mean, maybe I’ll just call the cops? How much could she be stealing? Ah, now I’m just looking for excuses…’_

Something was disquieting him as he thought back on her. He had gotten a much better look at her than during their first encounter, what with her being webbed in place and all. _‘This feeling… like recognition?’_ Something about her had seemed familiar. Something he hadn’t been able to put his finger on before. _‘Her eyes. I’ve seen eyes just like those before.’_ He wracked his brains, but the stench of garbage was making it difficult to concentrate, and there were far too many questions to go over in a place like that. _‘Who was she? Why was Iron Man there at this hour? What’s his beef with me? Why am I still sitting in this gross alley? I need a shower.’_

Reasoning that enough time had passed, Peter quietly webbed his way down the interconnected alleyways, sticking to low buildings as he tried to remember where exactly he’d left his clothes that afternoon.


	7. Chapter 7

Just as Peter had dreaded following his antics on the rooftop, the following morning’s news cast Spider-Man in quite a different light from that of the previous day’s mayoral press release. The fact that he had been expecting the worst, however, didn’t make it any less unpleasant to read.

Tony Stark had given a statement to the press in which he very explicitly detailed his encounter with a pair of ‘criminal mutants’ burgling from a high-rise in Queens. It should come as no surprise, he had said, that Spider-Man moonlighted as a thief when he was not pretending to be a virtuous hero. The killing blow had been his suit’s built-in camera which, conveniently, seemed to only have taken pictures of the two ‘brigands’ standing side by side, ready for a fight.

The newspapers, naturally, had fallen into a media frenzy and all tried to outdo each other in reviling him. SPIDER-MAN AND BLACK CAT – QUEENS’ NEW CRIME DUO, read one headline. Another was titled SPIDER-MAN’S TRUE FACE REVEALED while the Daily Bugle, never to be surpassed when it came to the subject of his spidery alter ego, boldly claimed: CRITICS VINDICATED – SPIDER-MAN CONFIRMED AS CRIMINAL. They even featured a follow-up piece with a particularly titillating scoop: BLACK CAT REVEALED TO BE HENCHWOMAN TO SPIDER-MAN.

_‘Well. At least somebody managed to extract just a bit of happiness out of these headlines, so it can’t be all bad?’_

With a sigh he leaned back in his swivel chair, only to sit up straight with a start after hearing something snap in it. Glancing back at the news sites flickering on his laptop monitor, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the city’s mayor. He had already received a lot of flak for his ‘pre-emptive praise of a career criminal.’

 _‘Literally the one positive I can take out of all this insanity is that everyone’s finally settled on the cat burglar’s name.’_ Just as had initially been the case with his name, the media had slowly phased out the ‘The’ preceding Black Cat. _‘Less dramatic and mysterious, but I guess that’s the point?’_ He somehow doubted that she would partake in any more thefts for the foreseeable future, without a doubt having received far more of the spotlight than she’d ever bargained for. _‘That’s what you get when you swim with the big fishes, lady! Spider-Man, here to guarantee you a good time and a city-wide bad name, pick a number!’_

Peter wondered whether even he could go out on patrol anytime soon; the authorities, even the citizenry would now be on high Spider-Man alert. _‘No more cheers and thumbs-up from ground level, that’s for sure.’_ Some minor newspapers did debate the veracity of Stark’s claims with all the proof being provided by his technology, and Mysterio maintained that it was all a conspiracy that went up to the highest levels. By and large, however, Spider-Man had gone from public hero to public menace over the course of a single day.

Feeling like he had already punished himself more than enough he closed the browser and closed the laptop lid to check his phone. In light of foregoing his daily patrol and still keeping his distance from MJ, he had become more determined than ever to see Felicia and clear the air around them. She’d at first refused him, saying she wasn’t feeling that well, but when he insisted in a semi-pleading message that now hurt his very soul to even look at she had simply not replied.

_‘This seems pretty clear-cut to me: she’s still mad, all kinds of mad, at me. If she’s felt like this since Sunday, it probably won’t change by tomorrow. The only thing that could actually change said attitude would be me telling her the truth, but I can hardly do that if she doesn’t want to see my face. Catch 22.’_

He almost leaned back on the chair with a sigh, only barely stopping himself at the last second. _‘There’s only one thing to be done, then: I have to just show up at her doorstep whether she wants to see me or not. This thing needs to be buried ASAP, shovel and all, come what may.’_

Nodding to himself, Peter decided to head straight for Queens, opting to skip classes to try and get to her house before lunchtime.

_‘This is it. Time to put it all out there.’_

Felicia and her father still lived in the same apartment they’d moved into just after the Ueno Impact, in a run-down complex only some ten minutes’ walk from Peter’s old home. He remembered her once explaining to him that she’d lost her original house to the tsunami, as it had been far closer to the seaboard. No trace had remained of the building, or of her mother.

Peter couldn’t help but feel like Felicia coming down with something and staying at home had been something of a lucky break in disguise. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he could have gotten her alone at the gym, what with her father constantly eying him suspiciously. He had been to Felicia’s house on a few occasions in his childhood, but around the time he’d turned sixteen the man had taken him aside and told him he was past the age of spending his evenings in a girl’s bedroom. He felt like her father had always been overtly suspicious of everyone in general, even his aunt and uncle, but due to his close friendship with Felicia Peter had often been a prime target for scrutiny.

He looked down the row of filthy doorbells and finally found the one with ‘Hardy’ printed barely-legibly next to it. Pressing the buzzer, he waited for a long moment, his heart suddenly starting to beat faster and faster.

“Who is it?” Felicia asked after a while through the crackling speaker, not at all sounding like she had a cold.

“It’s Peter.” He barely managed to keep his voice from faltering upon hearing her speak.

There was a long moment of silence which might as well have lasted for an entire eternity.

“Peter, I told you I’m not-”

“Felicia… please.” He had to get through to her no matter what. “There’s something I need to say to you, no matter what. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

Another long, hollow silence.

“Can’t it wait? Today really is a bad day for me.”

“No. That’s why I’m here. This is important.”

One final silence, then a sigh and the click of the door’s lock.

“Come on in.”

Peter opened the door and stepped into the familiar, chaotic entryway. Several of the mailboxes to his right were full to the brim with unopened letters and ads, while the space adjacent to the stairs featured a veritable graveyard for bicycles lacking several key components. The hallway smelled faintly of curry, and he could hear loud music coming in from one of the first-floor apartments.

Felicia’s flat was on the second floor and she, just like she’d always excitedly done when they were kids, was already waiting at the doorway as he wound his way up towards her.

When Peter saw her, he audibly gasped as he felt his blood freezing over.

Felicia looked like she’d been through hell and back. Her left forearm was in a cast and her face was covered in small cuts and bruises, one of which covered the skin around her left eye. She was wearing boxers and a plain grey t-shirt that did nothing to hide the bandages wound around her chest and her knees. She had bags under her eyes, which were dull and tired as she looked down at him from the landing.

“Hey, Peter,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Told you I wasn’t feeling so hot.”

“F-Felicia,” he stammered, taking a couple of steps closer. “What happened? What the hell happened?”

“Oof, calm down,” she waved her right hand up and down while massaging her temple with her left. He noticed that some of her fingers were wrapped in Band-Aids. “I’m on meds all the way up to the moon, so try to keep your voice down.”

“Felicia-”

“Just... come on in.” She nodded towards the interior with her head, her white hair bobbing slightly, and stepped into her apartment.

 _‘What the hell is going on?’_ Peter took a look around as he made his way up the stairs and entered the apartment. _‘Who did this to her?’_

Closing the door behind him, he entered the flat just in time to see Felicia go over to the small open kitchen by the living room. With visible effort, she opened the fridge and poked her head inside.

“You want a drink? Beer?”

Peter could hardly believe how nonchalant she was being about her condition. “I want to know what happened to you.”

Felicia withdrew from the fridge with a can of beer in hand and nodded slowly. “Let’s talk in my room.”

As he followed her through the surprisingly-clean apartment, Peter couldn’t help but notice the heavy smell of tobacco lingering in the air.

Felicia’s bedroom seemed like it hadn’t changed in the slightest since the last time he’d been in it. Its walls were still a veritable art gallery of posters, one containing such a range of material as a Terminator 2 poster, half dozen cat pictures, and a hand-drawn advertisement for some anime he couldn’t remember the name of, amongst many others. Her desks were similarly cluttered with items and paraphernalia; books, comics, CD cases and action figures lined practically every available surface.

Just about the only new additions to the room were the Nightwish poster by her half-open and sticker-marred window and the unopened pack of cigarettes on her bedside table.

“So,” Felicia said, slumping down on her undone bed. “You wanted to tell me something?”

Peter shook his head in disbelief. “Forget about that. What happened to you?”

His friend grimaced, like she’d been dreading having to answer the question. “What does it look like, Peter? Had an accident.”

“An accident?” He didn’t even try to hide the scepticism in his voice. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Felicia gritted her teeth as she opened the beer can with one hand, then took a small sip, wincing in pain as she did.

“This another one of your ‘acrobatics’ accidents, then?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it.”

“I saw you on Sunday and you were fine. When the hell did this happen?”

Felicia was silent for a long moment and avoided looking into his eyes. She lifted the can to her lips again but thought better of it and put it back down.

“Felicia?”

“Last night. Had my accident then.”

Something like a switch flipped deep within Peter, a subconscious thought constructing itself and clicking into place with enough strength to make him blink. He looked at her broken arm and her blue eyes, which she was directing at the ground. The thought was a passive one, rather than proactive; even as his brain started connecting the dots, he could only continue the conversation as if he suspected nothing.

The rest of his brain was simply too outraged by her last statement to work in tandem with any possible hidden truths.

“Fe- last night?!” He looked about the room as if her words were too ridiculous to take at face value. “Your broken arm, your- your chest? That happened last night?”

“It was a rough night.”

“What the hell! You should be in a hospital, not here!”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a blue flame of anger burning in them. “Not all of us get Osborn cash to stay in hospitals for however long.”

Her barb bounced off him completely; he was too concerned about her to even care. “Felicia, that’s not the point!”

She continued to stare into his eyes, but after a moment she seemed to see something in them that made her soften up. The anger in her gaze turned to sadness and regret as she lowered it back towards the white-carpeted floor.

“People like me don’t get to stay in hospitals,” she muttered.

“What?” He had heard her, but couldn’t make sense of her words. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t understand. Please, Felicia…” He took a step towards her.

His best friend was silent for a long moment, tapping the floor with her right foot nervously. Without looking up she sighed deeply and sunk her head. “Fuck it.”

“What?”

When she looked back up to meet his gaze again she wore an expression he had never before seen in his life.

“Have you heard of Black Cat?”

Peter’s subconscious ramblings finally met the rest of his brain, finally caught his suspicions up with the present reality which he had been so unable or unwilling to affirm, all the evidence notwithstanding.

He blinked, his throat dry. “What do you mean?”

“The thief? The… burglar?” Felicia’s voice was hoarse; she seemed to struggle with every word. “It’s me. I’m Black Cat.”

Suspicion met reality and subconscious met consciousness with a flash and a bang that left him feeling light-headed. _‘Impossible. Cosmic odds… impossible.’_

“That can’t be,” he whispered.

Felicia’s eyes, one moment pleading and desperate suddenly turned hard and angry.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘that can’t be’?”

“I-”

“Can’t believe your dear friend’s a thief? A raggedy, no-good criminal?” Despite her supposed headache she was quickly raising her voice. “What, do I have to show you my fucking outfit?”

“No- Felicia...” Peter couldn’t find the right words to express himself, so overwhelmed did he feel by the whole situation. When he’d said the words that had sparked her ire he had been thinking of their encounters on the rooftops, the way she had performed a backflip right over his head or how she had swept his feet out from under him and escaped into the night with the loot.

The thought that that had all been Felicia – that all those things he’d witnessed first-hand had been her doing – had just been one he’d struggled to integrate with his long years’-worth of memories of her.

Felicia seemed to wait for him to answer, but after a moment of bitter silence she simply gazed out the window. “Well, you’d better believe it. You can report me now, or whatever. The cat’s out of the bag.”

“No… no, Felicia, no.” Peter approached her with a hand held out, wanting to do something to fix the situation, _anything_. The glare she shot him from the corner of her eye kept him at arm’s length. “I’d never… I’d never do that to you.”

They were both silent for a long moment. The sound of cars rumbling by could be heard through the half open window, and somewhere in the distance a couple of birds were chirping.

Suddenly, Felicia hands began to shake ever so slightly.

“My dad,” she said in a weak voice, like all the energy which had been raging within her had suddenly been drained, “he used to do this too. Burgle. He taught me.” As if at the flip of a switch, the hard anger in her tone gave way to a sudden sadness. Her eyes suddenly seemed damp, sorrowful.

Suddenly sensing how vulnerable she looked, Peter carefully made his way to her bed and sat down by her side. His mind was still a complete mess, but the sight of his childhood friend in such a condition utterly rearranged all his priorities.

“All those injuries,” he said softly. “Those gymnastics routines…”

“All bullshit,” she swallowed. “Acrobatics training, combat training… dad was serious. He kept repeating that fucking saying about making an omelette.”

Peter wanted to console her, wanted to do something for her, but hesitation stayed his hand. _‘I wanted to bring her in to the police last night. My best friend, this woman. Felicia.’_ “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she sniffled and glanced at him. “So you believe me? About being Black Cat?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t think I’m some… schizo nut? Breaking down into tears…”

Peter suddenly realized how much his heart hurt within his chest. It felt like it wanted to leap out of his throat.

“Felicia, I believe you. I...” His mouth felt dry. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well.” She sniffled lightly. “Sorry about that. Dad insisted on the secrecy, he always thought you might find out…”

Peter nodded. That suddenly explained the man’s attitude towards him for all these years.

“Most of all, though,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Most of all I didn’t want you thinking less of me.”

“Never.” For the first time, Peter finally placed a hand on her shoulder. Lightly, gingerly, so as not to cause her pain through her injuries. “Nothing could make me think less of you.”

The corner of Felicia’s lip rose slightly in a thin smile. Her eyes were still watery. “Not even the mutant thing?”

“The mutant thing?”

“Thought you knew about Black Cat?” She brought her right hand up to play with a loose piece of plaster on her cast. “I’m a mutant, Peter.”

Even though her words shouldn’t have been a revelation of any kind whatsoever – he had fully assumed that Black Cat was a mutant during their second encounter the previous night – hearing the words straight out of Felicia’s mouth still shook him to the core.

He remembered how she had asked him what his thoughts on mutants were the last time they had met up. He realized, with a sickening twist in his gut, that the odds were good that she had been on the verge of speaking to him of the subject… and perhaps of baring her soul to him, laying the whole truth out on the table. After months of not seeing each other, a confession from one friend to another during a time of chaos and uncertainties…

Only for him to bail on her with a half-baked lie.

_‘The worst. The worst, the worst, the worst. I’m the fucking worst.’_

He wanted to apologize to her again. And again and again and again. But he knew that his words would ring hollow.

“I didn’t know that either,” he said, his voice weak.

“You never wondered? About my hair?” Felicia brought her right hand up to her shoulder-length hair and flicked it about. “What, did you think I was born like this? Or that I dyed it to look hot?”

“I… never thought about it.” He’d always admired it for its strange and striking colour, but had at some point early in his life assumed that the colour was a fashion choice since he knew how well she always took care of it. It always looked as soft as silk, bobbing about with all her movements.

“And I always appreciated that.” Another thin, sad smile as she continued to play with the white strands. “I used to be blonde, did you know?”

“No.”

“As a little kid. I have photos.” She finally lowered her hand and looked down at her palm. “After the tsunami, I woke up in a hospital like this. My dad didn’t even recognize me at first.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” She stopped analysing her hand and picked up her can of beer, taking another painful drink from it. “I’m sorry my dad only knew how to use my powers for crime, instead of coming up with something more creative. Wanna guess what my mutant powers are?”

“Luck?”

Felicia looked at him directly, her blue eyes betraying wholesale surprise. “How did you know? Where did you read that?”

Peter suddenly realized his mistake, having been too absorbed in her voice to think clearly. “Some newspaper…” He shrugged, trying to level his voice. “Their theory on how you escaped Iron Man.”

“Good guess. Though that was thanks to Spider-Man. I’d be in prison… no, in some mutant internment camp if it weren’t for him.”

Peter had never felt as odd a feeling coursing through him as he did upon hearing those words. _‘She has no idea, no suspicions. How could she?’_ He suddenly hoped that his alter ego wouldn’t be brought up in the conversation anymore.

“But yeah, luck.” Felicia swirled the can about in a circular motion. “If I focus, something clicks in me. After that… if I throw a pair of die I land two sixes. If someone shoots at me, they miss.” She turned to look at him, her face close to his. “Want me to show you?”

“No… Felicia, you’re hurt.”

“It’s easy. Look.” Turning her gaze towards the near-full beer can, she lifted it above her foot and let it drop.

Peter immediately reached out and caught it, lightly enough not to spill its contents all over them both.

“Nice reflexes,” she observed, smiling. “Just my luck.”

Peter stared at her for a second, then laughed lightly. He passed the can back to her, and as she took it their fingers brushed. He had never associated the emotions that broiled within his chest with his best friend before, but he recognized them clearly. His perception of the mood in the room suddenly shifted, and he felt his back stiffening somewhat as he tried to master himself. _‘What are you thinking, Peter Parker?’_

Felicia lowered the can to her knees, and Peter noticed for the first time that she was wearing the dumb Cat in the Hat slippers he’d gotten her as a joke some three years past.

“Don’t know if that was a good demonstration,” she said softly, “but unless you’ve got a gun…”

“I believe you.”

Something in his tone made her freeze and cast him a sideways glance. Then she nodded, taking a sip of beer as she gazed out the window. She hid them well now, but for just a moment he’d clearly seen her blushed cheeks.

Another flicker of subconscious musing being thrust up to the waking world, again completely rearranging that status quo he’d thought to know so well.

Just like the one preceding it, the thought was shelved after being cocked like a loaded gun, only ready to fire into wholesale understanding when the time was right.

After a long moment, Felicia looked back down at the can in her hands. “Just for having a power like this I could get sent to the Savage Land.”

He blinked, his full attention on her once again. “The Savage Land?”

“Big mutant prison… just some Mysterio scoop.” She tapped the can with a Band-Aid-wrapped finger. “You still read Mysterio?”

“No,” he shook his head, and he was struck by how sad her question made him. “Not since high school.”

She nodded her head again, and stillness fell over the room.

_‘How could I have been so stupid? Living an insular life on campus, acting like the world revolved around me…’_

He broke the silence with an easy topic. “Fought against Iron Man, huh?”

“No. Iron Man kicked my ass, my luck notwithstanding.” She thought back for a moment. “Or, maybe my powers saved my life. Maybe this is me having gotten lucky.”

Her words were grim, but absent-minded. They made him wonder how often she had had similar thoughts as of late.

“And your ribs,” he nodded towards the bandages wrapped around her chest, noting that they almost went as far up as her breastbone. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Internal injuries? Lucky again.”

“Should you be drinking that?”

She looked down at the can of beer and shrugged. “Doctor said it was okay. Just no more smoking for a while.”

“The doctor?”

“Yeah,” her eyes fell again, as if at an unpleasant recollection. “I mentioned people like me didn’t get to go to hospitals.”

Peter nodded, easily recognizing that she didn’t want to stay on the subject. “So, where did you train? For all this?”

A sudden nostalgic smile briefly graced her lips. “Remember our old meeting point? Where we almost built that secret base?”

“The warehouse? The one near here?”

“Yeah,” she was still smiling, as if at the memories. “That dump’s got it all. You could train a battalion of ninjas there.”

Peter nodded; he remembered that his first choice to experiment with his new powers had been the large, abandoned warehouse in which they had often met up as children. It seemed unbelievable that she had been frequenting that derelict place on her own all this time. His gaze wandered to her bedside table where, flanked by medical bottles and pills, the picture that Uncle Ben had taken of them together by the Balto statue in Central Park some two years past still stood upright.

“So, Peter.”

He looked at her. She was leaning the beer can on her bandaged kneecap.

“What did you want to tell me?”

His breath stuck in his throat.

_‘I’m Spider-Man.’_

It should’ve been easy, straightforward, curt. Maybe not so blunt, but the important thing was that the words got out there. The rest would take care of itself.

_‘I’m Spider-Man.’_

She had bared her soul to him, had trusted him implicitly with the truth. It should’ve been as easy as saying those two simple words…

_‘Dammit…’_

And yet it wasn’t. Something was wrong, out of tune.

How could he, right now, right after having heard her confession about being Black Cat, just drop the bomb and flatly state that he was Spider-Man? Right there and then, in her bedroom? How would she react, with the images of the previous night – of their fight, of his stupid quips and comments – as fresh as the wounds coating her body?

He could prove it all, of course – he could use a web to snatch her old signed baseball off her bookshelf, but how would that look?

How would she react upon learning of the symbiote? Horror? Disgust?

_‘You’ve been through this! If anyone will accept the truth it’s her!’_

She alone could hear him out, could understand. He had been so certain, so sure of that on the way to her house.

“Felicia,” he whispered, needing to say something before his thoughts threatened to burst his head apart. “I…”

But that had been before she’d told him she was Black Cat.

All that determination, all that bravado and planning had been swept under the rug by the weight of her words. To simply try to ignore that and dump his confession on top of hers would be folly. His words would ring hollow, would inspire all the wrong emotions when he’d simply wanted to lay out the truth before her. He had mapped out a plan of approach for his declaration, but the terrain beneath had now shifted entirely.

“I…”

And yet.

And yet…

“Peter…”

She wasn’t even trying to hide her blush now.

And yet that was all bullshit. All of it just an excuse, another cowardly attempt by Peter Parker to dodge the truth.

_‘The truth.’_

The truth that Felicia Hardy, her face so close to his that he could smell her shampoo as she stared directly into his eyes, expected the next words out of his mouth to be of a completely different nature.

To blurt out right now that he was Spider-Man wasn’t wrong in the context of her previous admission.

It was wrong in the context of the very situation. Of her heart.

She had trapped him, but through no fault of her own. She couldn’t have possibly known that he was there to confess to being Spider-Man. So what other possible words could he be having so much trouble saying?

His own heart was racing, and time seemed to coil around this one moment in his best friend’s room.

She meant so much to him. An anchor, something irreplaceable, something precious. He’d never thought about her in this way before…

_‘Yes you have.’_

How could he have not? Through all the years, all the months and weeks and days and hours together, how could he have shut that aspect away completely?

He’d always felt certain that he had control over it. A barrier, a thin line that would forever distinguish those emotions he felt for her from those he felt for…

_‘Mary Jane.’_

Her bandaged knees were pressed against each other, the beer can loosely resting above them in her hands…

The line had become blurred. He’d always known that one day it would happen, but he’d never feared its onset because…

Because he’d never thought she’d feel the same.

His chest was ablaze. His mind was a thunderstorm.

He couldn’t say he was Spider-Man.

He couldn’t say what she expected to hear.

He couldn’t say anything.

How had it come to this?

_‘I’m sorry.’_

“It’s…” He turned his head away, again feeling the icy claw in his gut. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

Felicia’s eyes stayed on his for a moment, before she leaned back away from him and looked down at her beer.

 _‘You bastard. Peter Parker, you bastard.’_ To have seen her physically hurt the previous tonight, to have then done this to her himself… _‘Coward. Damn coward.’_

He had to leave. To spare her his presence.

“Felicia, I… thank you. For trusting me.” The words themselves sounded normal enough, but he was struck by how thin they felt when directed at her. “Your secret’s safe with me. Always.”

Felicia smiled. There was no trace of the blush left on her face. “Yeah. Thanks, Peter. Thanks for listening.”

“I have to get back to class, but…” _‘She won’t want you back here.’_ “I’ll give you a call right after. Check up.”

“Okay. Sure.” She could almost fool him with her grin. “I’ll be up to no good again in no time at all.” She tried to stand up, but groaned and sat back down again. “Just give me-”

“No, don’t get up.” He gestured with his hand for her to stay where she was as he got off the bed. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Thanks. Make sure the door’s shut right. It can be screwy.”

It felt wrong to force a smile, but he tried to anyway. “We’ll talk soon.”

Felicia just waved, her other hand still holding the can.

He made his way through the living room and stepped out the main entrance. Shutting the door behind him, the sunlight that had been lighting up the Hardy flat and glimmering in Felicia’s hair was suddenly replaced by the dark, filthy corridor.

Peter let go of the handle.

He had never felt so cold and hollow in his entire life.

So cowardly.

_‘I have to tell MJ. Right now. I have to go to her immediately and just tell her.’_

If he didn’t, he truly believed that he might lose everything.


	8. Chapter 8

As he stepped out of the subway and began making his way towards ESU’s campus, Peter felt a light drizzle start to fall over the city. By the time he had made it within the college grounds that drizzle had transformed into a steady rainfall, and he entered his dorm just before it could soak him to the bone.

No one else seemed to be in as he made his way to his room. Classes were on for a few hours yet, so he had to wait away the time until MJ returned to her own dorm room. He tried to get in touch with his friends to get a grip on his nervousness, but the attempt was wholly unsuccessful. Scott hadn’t replied to any of his messages, while Harry had curtly let him know that he was busy with his studies. With friends and classes ruled out, even going out on a short patrol was wholly out of the question in light of the city’s newfound vehement distaste for Spider-Man.

In short, Peter was left two whole hours in which to exclusively mull over the utter disaster that his attempted confession to Felicia had been.

What was supposed to be a long-overdue visit to clear the air between them had instead left their relationship more muddled than ever before. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her as she’d been when sitting next to him on her bed, bruised and battered, her eyes as intense as the ocean as they’d looked expectantly into his. He couldn’t get rid of the image – the sheer weight of its emotions had pushed it to the forefront of his thoughts, where it had remained since he’d left her apartment.

Peter felt his gut roiling again alongside the sudden pressure in his chest as he sat on the edge of his bed. After having known her for so many years he had never thought that his perception of Felicia could change as simply as if by the flick of a switch. He wondered if he was only just now seeing something that others had already been able to guess for years: Uncle Ben had regularly made joking remarks about their relationship, often enough that Peter came to hardly even register them as much more than his regular humour, just as he’d always ignored the myriad locker room whisperings that always sprang up in a place like Midtown High.

He’d always found it so petty, so pathetic that people couldn’t just accept that for once a man and a woman could merely be best of friends and nothing more; those thoughts only made the events of the last few hours feel all the more ironic.

Admitting that she was Black Cat must have been a moment of enormous importance to Felicia – he didn’t doubt that her father had strictly urged her to take the secret with her to the grave. That must have been the trigger, the moment when all their years together had amounted to the possibility of something more, something stronger. She hadn’t made any declarations, any statements, any demands. She’d simply sat before him with a changed heart.

_‘Was that it for me as well, then?’_

Peter gritted his teeth. He had thought that he’d long since figured it all out; MJ had always robbed him of his breath, had been at the sole object of his romantic thoughts and desires. She was smart, passionate, outgoing, and shared so much in common with him. When he got her to laugh it felt like he’d brought about something great for the world, and when their lips met he wondered if the electricity running through his body might short-circuit something important. He’d come to think of it as love, and that had been that. He’d been certain as all hell that he loved Mary Jane Watson.

So why did he go to speak with Felicia first?

He’d come to suspect that his previous reasoning – that his friend would surely be more receptive to the confession, that she could help him figure out how to break the news to MJ – was as much another front for his cowardice as the dozen other lies he’d come to tell himself over the previous months. Under all the mental gymnastics and complex explanations there was always some simple reason, some short sentence that bore more truth than any of his myriad internal monologues.

He suspected just what it might be, but feared to acknowledge it.

_‘How can you love without trust? How can you build something if its foundation is made of rotten lies and half-truths?’_

Peter rested his forehead on his palm, grimacing. This feeling right now - this ridiculous psychological trap he’d constructed around himself just by withholding the truth about Spider-Man – it felt so much like he’d imagined defeat would. He had always pictured himself being brought down by some powerful mutant or government powerhouse like Tony Stark, trampled into the dirt until he saw no way out. Never in a hundred years would he have imagined that simply reflecting on his previous choices in his university dorm room could make him feel such a staggering sense of failure.

_‘My life is so ridiculously precarious. Other people always have something to fall back on when they lose something, but I’m constantly teetering on the edge. I can count my family and friends with one hand and still I’ve been lying to them all for almost a year while I go out, week after week, on patrols into a city that now fucking hates me. And what’s left? Scott has his own issues, Aunt May is away, Harry’s shut himself away, and I don’t dare show my face before Felicia again. MJ – I don’t know how she’ll react. I just don’t know.’_

_‘Is being Spider-Man the one and only constant in my life? How fucking sad is that?’_

Peter checked his wristwatch and groaned, slumping back onto his mattress.

“Where were you this morning?” MJ was neatly laying her textbooks out on her tidy work desk. “I heard that Mr. Warren tried to single you out to answer a question only to be met by the sound of crickets chirping. Doesn’t sound like he’s too happy about that.”

“Oh, joy.”

“So?” She shut her window to cut off the sound of the falling rain. “What were you up to?”

“Just wasn’t feeling up for classes.”

“Playing hooky?” MJ raised an eyebrow, but it was a wry, humorous expression. “Can’t have you flunking out of college, Peter.”

Peter opened his mouth to give a retort, but found that he was too exhausted to keep the exchange going. He simply watched as Mary Jane sat down on her bed, leaning her back against the wall while dropping her phone to her side. He glanced at the door behind him, confirming that it was shut tight; he knew from experience that the rooms in her dorm were particularly sound-proof.

“So, what’s up? Said you wanted to tell me something?”

Peter’s guts were cold noodles as he nodded, his shoulder against the wall by the doorframe. “Yeah.” _‘This is it. This time just say it. Get it done. Don’t overthink it. Take the leap.’_

“Well, spit it out.”

His eyes met hers.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

The confession didn’t have the earth-shattering profundity or euphoria that he thought it might, but he’d suspected as much. It was a gradual process, like a locked room slowly filling with water.

MJ grinned and nodded. “Okay. Glad we got that out of the way.”

_‘Of course. Anyone would react like that, like it’s a joke. Out of the millions of people in this city, only one could say it without it being a joke. Those are some fine odds.’_

He had to prove it.

“MJ, don’t… don’t be startled.” The words seemed pointless, like they could in no way shield her from what was to come.

“Peter, did the whole-”

He lifted his right hand, wrist facing up towards her ceiling fan, and used a web to rope in and grab one of her text books off her work desk.

The _thwip_ sound of the short, whiplash motion seemed to echo in the small room as MJ simply stared at him from the bed, emerald eyes wide open and mouth agog.

“What was that?” she asked, her voice shaky but almost wholly composed.

“A… a web.”

“A web?”

“I’m-” Peter looked at the textbook in his hand and lay it down on the floor. “I’m telling you the truth, MJ – the whole truth.”

“The truth?”

“Yeah.”

“That you’re Spider-Man?”

He winced. _‘In other words, I’ve decided to stop lying to you.’_ “Yeah.”

MJ let out a little laugh and straightened her back against the wall. She glanced away from him and out the window, then scrutinised him for a long moment. It took him a second to realize that she was staring at his clothes – in particular the edges of the t-shirt he was wearing. _‘She confirming this isn’t a trick – something from under my sleeve. She’s trying to exhaust every other alternative.’_

A small, dry laugh left her lips. “So you’re saying… you swing around the city? On webs?”

He nodded, his heart racing.

“And that yesterday you… you broke into that place with Black Cat-”

“No! MJ, that’s-” He took a step forward, saw the flash of wariness in her eyes as her nonchalant façade briefly collapsed. He hadn’t thought that he would have to deal with the media’s slander during his confession, but how should MJ know what was true or false about Spider-Man? “That was a big misunderstanding, I was there to stop Black Cat…”

“Oh,” she said, laughing drily. “You were on that rooftop last night to fight crime?”

“Yes!”

“Fighting Iron Man?”

“I-”

“Peter, what is all this? If this is some sort of prank it’s gone on…” MJ’s words trailed off as her eyes fell back on the textbook lying on the ground.

“I’m serious. I wanted you to know.”

MJ’s head snapped back up. “So all those nights, those late nights studying?” Her left hand wrapped around her phone as she pulled her knees closer to her chest. “That was…”

“Me on patrol, yeah.”

“On patrol?”

“To fight crime.”

“Right,” she nodded, but there was a clear edge to her jaw as she did. “You weren’t working with burglars-”

“No!”

“Where’s your suit?” she suddenly snapped. “Your costume?”

That was the question he had dreaded the most. The biological, organic aspect of it all… the invasion he’d quietly subjected her to.

“That’s-”

“How long, Peter?” MJ’s voice was strange as she looked right at him. “How long?”

His mouth was dry, but the words tumbled out regardless.

“Since the Triskelion.”

“Since-” Her eyes widened and she squeezed her phone tighter.

A long, drawn-out silence seemed to stretch languidly across the room, and Peter knew perfectly well that MJ was running her mind through every moment they’d spent together since. _‘She’s trying to figure it all out in her head, sort it out.’_

All he could do was stand there and try not to think about how she might respond.

“So you’re… a mutant?”

For a split second he considered lying, saying he was; it was a far easier explanation than the truth. But he was sick to his gut of lying to her. _‘No more lies.’_

“No… I- something made me like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“At the Triskelion, after the water flooded in… we were on the ground.”

MJ nodded slowly, clearly not having forgotten the details of that day.

“There was a spider there, on the ground. In the lab.” He swallowed drily. “It bit me.”

“Bit you?”

“Yeah.”

“A… a lab spider?”

“I think so.”

“A lab spider gave you powers.” She finally tore her gaze away from him and looked at her knees.

She was putting all the pieces together now, he knew. At least, all the ones he’d finally deigned to give her. That was why he could almost predict her next question before she firmly asked it.

“Where’s your suit, Peter?”

A part of him wanted to lie, wanted to deny that it was organic and unknowable, aware of the hidden profundity that those words would have. That part was screaming for him to hide the truth, was shouting that this was all going wrong deep below the surface. But he chose to ignore it.

He could only tell the truth now. It was the one right decision, come what may.

“Well?”

“It’s…” He hesitated, then touched his index and middle finger to his chest. “In here.”

MJ looked at him for a moment longer, then down at the floor. Her expression suddenly seemed strangely haggard, even though nothing in her physique had changed in the slightest over the past few minutes. She wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged them tightly.

Several seconds passed in silence, with only the muffled sounds of voices in the corridor and the patter of rainfall to accompany them.

She turned back towards him. “Ten months?”

He nodded quietly.

“Why wait, Peter? Why- Why tell me now?” She shook her head as if trying to understand. “What’s changed?”

“I-” He wasn’t sure exactly how to word his reply. “You deserve to know.”

“It’s a bit late for that.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was…” Once again, the urge to lie had to be supressed. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Of how you might… react.”

MJ seemed torn between sadness and bitterness as she absorbed his words, nodding. “Right.”

Peter knew how bad, how cowardly it had sounded, like he’d pettily shifted the blame on her for having kept the truth hidden because her response was unpredictable. But it was the truth.

He really had been petty and cowardly.

The silence that followed felt dull, like an anaesthetic was working its way into his system amidst the shameful realization that he had actually believed she might have taken the revelations in stride.

“I thought we had something, you know?” She slowly released her legs and let them hang off the bed. She was still tightly clutching her phone in one hand by her chest, like a rosary. “Something real.”

“We did,” he said weakly.

“Did we?” Somehow, the sadness in her eyes had won over the bitterness. “Was it real if for the last year you kept this all to yourself? Ran around as a folk hero and a wanted man thanks to powers – changes to your body – that you never let me know about?”

Something in her eyes made Peter suddenly grasp that despite everything, despite all the sickening conclusions she must have drawn in her head about his true self, she still didn’t hate him as he’d feared she would.

It was the pity in her gaze that tipped him off.

“I didn’t want to lose you.” The words sounded so hollow in his ears.

Only now were there signs of tears in her eyes.

“Peter…” she whispered, “I wish you’d told me.”

He clenched his jaw, nodded. His chest hurt. “So do I.”

MJ was silent for a moment, seeming to think back on something as she wiped her eyes.

“When you came to my house… asked me out. You said you’d almost died.”

“I did. That was true.”

“I know. I could tell.” She touched her phone to her chin and bit her lip. “I just never would’ve thought you meant as Spider-Man.”

Even the words uttered on that fateful night had been riddled with lies.

“I had to see you…”

“I know,” she sniffled. “But not as Peter Parker. You were Spider-Man that day.”

_‘What’s this feeling? This exhaustion?’_

There was nothing he could say. Mary Jane had always been a good judge of character.

It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t have possibly suspected the depths of his deceit.

“Peter,” she said, drying her cheeks and nodding towards her desk chair. “Sit- Sit down.”

He did as she said. He didn’t think there was anything in the world that he could refuse her at such a time.

“Listen,” she began. “I was thinking that something was… off about us. For the past few months.”

“MJ-”

“Please, just…” Closing her eyes, she held up a hand and he saw that, despite her shockingly collected attitude and tone, it was trembling. “Let me say this.”

Peter nodded, grabbing firmly onto his knees with his palms.

“Despite it all… despite our first summer and every… every beautiful moment that followed…”

_‘You knew this was coming from the first day, Peter Parker.’_

“Despite all of it, something was always there. Something that kept us from being… real. True.” She smiled sadly. “Now I know what it was.”

He nodded his head, biting his lip, but said nothing.

“We had… plans. I know we did. But I can tell at a glance, Peter. Now that I can finally see the real you.” She shrugged and wiped a sudden tear from her eye with a smile. “I see you now, swinging around the town for the past year. I see where you really stand, and it’s not where I thought you did.”

“I’m still me,” he said quietly, his body feeling heavy.

“Yeah. I know.” She nodded, sniffled. “That’s why I can see that you weren’t here, next to me as Peter Parker. You were out there as Spider-Man.”

“I’m… both.” _‘If only I’d killed that fucking spider…’_

“Now I know that too. I just wish I’d known that from the start.”

Peter lowered his head. He didn’t counter her point, didn’t even think of trying to. She was entitled to every last claim she was making. They were the first real ones he’d finally allowed her to make of him.

“I’m not…” She seemed lost for words for a moment. “I don’t regret it, Peter. Any of it. But now that it’s all come together, I feel like I’m meeting you for the first time. It’s confusing, but…” She took a deep breath. “What we had… we shouldn’t hold on to it. Not now, not like this.”

He looked up into her eyes, and the act of doing so made him feel like he’d lost that privilege forever.

“I wish I’d known… but still I trust you. Make no mistake, Peter… you’re a good man.” She leaned forward and reached out, placing a hand over his right one. “I won’t ask you why you do what you do or why you hide who you really are from everyone. Your secret’s safe with me.”

He turned his hand around and felt the warmth of her palm on his. She squeezed his hand gently. _‘This might be the last time I ever get to touch her like this.’_

“I wish I’d told you sooner,” he said, trying to sound stronger than he felt. “I wish things had been different.”

“I know.”

He lowered his gaze, looked at their hands. “I wish it had never bitten me. The spider.”

A long moment of silence, unbroken. Mary Jane didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move away from him.

“You should tell Felicia,” she said softly after a moment. “I get why you wouldn’t tell May, but…”

“I tried,” he replied honestly. “I couldn’t.”

When he glanced back up at her, Peter saw a strange new sadness in her eyes. She suddenly leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips, her other hand going to his shoulder. He felt an impulse, an almost irresistible urge from the bottom of his gut to hold her, kiss her back, never let her go until he could make things right.

Something small deep within his chest stopped him.

Mary Jane leaned back onto the bed, letting go of his hand and shoulder.

“Thank you, Peter.” Her smile was no longer sad or bitter, melancholic or resentful. It was just a smile.

He nodded. There was nothing he could say to those words. They bore finality, and the only right thing to do was to respect them.

After a few long seconds he stood up and made his way towards the door. On the way, he bent down to pick up the book he’d webbed from the table. It was a history of whistle-blowers.

He placed the book on her bedside table and looked back at her. “See you in class tomorrow?”

Mary Jane Watson sniffled and nodded, a warm smile on her face. Just as there was something familiar missing from her emerald eyes, there was also something new in them.

“Always, tiger.”

The rain was pouring heavily down over the campus as Peter made his way back to his dorm, but he didn’t mind it in the slightest as he ran down the central grounds in a light jog. He dearly hoped that MJ wasn’t watching him go from her window, realizing only too well that the image fit every other cheesy romance flick’s break-up scene to a tee. He pondered that at least he wasn’t crying in the rain; that would have made the moment far too perfect.

_‘Glad I’m still down for stupid fucking thoughts…’_

He was soaked to the core when he got back to his dorm, finding it once again devoid of any human presence but his own. He felt grateful for that, at least – he just wanted to get back to the isolation of his room as quickly as possible.

Once securely inside his small bedroom he removed his soaked clothes and dumped them onto his laundry bag, intending to take care of them later. The rain drummed tirelessly against his window as he put on a new t-shirt and a pair of boxers before, finally, slumping down onto his bed on his back. He stared up at his lit ceiling lamp, partially protecting his eyes by slinging a forearm over his brow.

The stillness felt solid, looming and unbreakable like a mountain.

 _‘So that’s that.’_ He heaved a deep sigh. _‘The truths out. Congratulations. You did the right thing. All’s right with the world.’_

The silence stretched out, seemingly endless.

Peter opened his mouth to mutter some gag, some dumb joke to lighten his mood, but only a choking sound broke through.

He closed his eyes as the tears began to flow.

“Fuck.”

 _‘Fuck.’_ He sobbed, whimpered. _‘Fuck.’_

_‘MJ… Aunt May…’_

_‘I can’t do this alone.’_

He felt pathetic, wretched. Worthless. Even with MJ saying she wanted to still be friends, even with Felicia and Harry and Scott and Aunt May there for him there was always…what?

Something – the root of it all…

Spider-Man.

Like some curse, some black mark on his life, always following, looming, breathing over his neck…

Baptised in Uncle Ben’s blood…

He bit his lip hard, suddenly punched the wall by his head. He could hear it cracking, denting.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered. “It’s wrong, it’s all gone wrong…”

What had happened?

Where had it all gone to hell? Had it been the moment the spider had bitten him, or had it been the night he’d rushed to MJ’s house?

Whose fault was this? The symbiote’s? Or…

 _‘Mine.’_ He wiped his eyes with his arm. His fist throbbed slightly, and he spared a glance at the white-plastered wall sporting a small new crater. _‘The spider was just… that was just life. I can’t blame life, can’t blame the world. I can only blame myself.’_

What was Spider-Man if Peter Parker couldn’t make the time for friends and family?

What was Peter Parker without Spider-Man?

_‘Everything’s in flux – is there not a single constant to all this?’_

Did his entire drive to do what he did – to step out into the night like no other man would ever even dream to – really hinge entirely upon the will of a dead man?

Was that really all there was to it? Was that the entire point?

If there was nothing linking one life to the other – then what was the point in being Spider-Man and Peter Parker both?

A sudden knock at his door shook Peter from his musings. Startled and embarrassed, he scrambled out of bed, took a deep breath and fully cleaned his face up with his shirt sleeve.

“Who is it?”

“Peter Parker?” A man’s voice, not one he recognized. “I’ve got some papers for you from Professor Warren.”

“Um,” Peter looked around his room for a clean pair of pants, but after a moment gave up and walked over to the door in his trunks. “Coming.”

He was reaching out his hand for the door handle when he felt it. It was a light feeling, a chill that ran from his shoulder blades to the top of his neck. He’d sensed it every now and then when fighting multiple opponents, a warning of some kind that there was danger looming somewhere just out of sight.

The feeling persisted like a current of electricity, made his whole body freeze in front of the door.

There was no sound for several seconds but for the patter of rainfall on the window.

Peter dove aside onto his bed just a split second before the glass shattered into dozens of shards, raining glass and water onto the floor. He kneeled on the mattress, his eyes wide as he saw three large darts impact and embed themselves into the door with small thuds.

A second later the door itself was broken down with a powerful kick and two men rushed into the small room, quickly filling it with their presence. They were wearing wet military fatigues covered in straps and pouches, and both held long metal sticks in their hands that looked and hummed like electric prods. The men seemed rough, one of them suffering from pockmarks across his face while the other’s was zigzagged by small, deep scars barely visible under his cowboy hat. Their eyes were hard, cold, almost dead – soldierly, professional.

They were staring right at him like hawks descending on their prey.

_‘Thugs, mercenaries. They know. Someone knows.’_

The pockmarked charged, stabbing at Peter with the electric prod like a rapier.

_‘The game’s up.’_

Peter summoned the suit and dodged backwards, sticking with his fingertips to the same wall he’d put a dent in before. The man’s arm shot past him and he gave it a kick in the elbow for good measure. The mercenary yelled in pain and dropped the electric prod even as his companion, a lean man wearing a cowboy hat, ran past him at Peter. Heavy footsteps echoed from just down the hallway.

 _‘Not enough room here, they’ll swarm me.’_ As the hat-toting man swung his electric prod down like a club Peter fired a web right at his face, prompting him to break off and dodge away with shocking speed for his size. Using the split second of respite available to him, Peter ground his teeth and dove out the partially-broken window.

He had just cleared the frame when he felt the dart stab into his left leg, just below the knee. Wincing in pain, he quickly reached back and pulled it out while in mid-air. His equilibrium lost, he fell down on to the grassy plaza below, pain burgeoning in his sides as he rolled on the ground. Rain was pouring down heavily under dark clouds, leaving the campus grounds empty and desolate.

Peter immediately tried to stand up, but stumbled and almost fell to one knee; it was only with a tremendous effort that he managed to stay upright.

 _‘Damn!’_ His leg felt numb, heavy. _‘Goddamn, they shot me. Someone shot me in mid-air, never even heard the shot-’_

Suddenly, the cold touch of danger on the back of his neck again.

The projectiles were soundless, without clear points of origin; they must have been fired from the nearby rooftops all around him. Despite the sluggishness in his leg and the incessant rain he managed to duck and weave once, twice, thrice…

There were no further shots fired after the third miss.

Peter looked around desperately for an escape route, a way out. Whatever had been injected into him was making him slower by the second. _‘No good. Campus buildings surrounding me… all too low. They’ll hit me as soon as I get on the rooftops.’_

A heavy, wet thud echoed behind him and Peter turned in time to see a man crouching on the grass, seemingly having jumped out the first-floor window after him. He was wearing dark military fatigues like the other two men, but as opposed to their countless satchels and straps he only wore a belt with a huge knife sheath and a pistol holster. He raised himself up, holstering the strange-looking pistol in his hand while looking him straight in the eyes. He smiled menacingly under a black goatee.

“Peter Parker,” he drawled slowly in an unfamiliar accent. “Spider-Man.”

Peter held his silence, looking into his icy blue eyes. _‘This is the man who shot me. There’s something different about him.’_

“It was hard tracking you down,” he continued. “You’ve been a most elusive prey to us.”

“Prey?”

The two men who had burst into his room finally emerged from the dorm’s entryway with electric prods in hand, almost slipping on the wet grass in their hurry, and began circling around him. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Peter caught movement on the rooftops as at least two of the snipers changed positions. _‘Five of them, maybe more? Who are these people?’_

The goateed man tapped his right index finger to his ear and tilted his head slightly, as if listening in to something. After a moment he raised a hand to the sky with three fingers held up.

“My name,” he said, lowering his arm, “is Sergei Kravinoff. My team was tasked to track you down and bring you in.”

“Who sent you?!”

“You’ll find out if you just come quietly with us.”

“Not on your life.” Peter bit his lip, almost drawing blood, as he fought against the overwhelming sense of nausea in his throat.

“We’ve orders to bring you in alive, son,” the mercenary said, his voice rumbling. “But if you resist, we might have to get rough.”

“Right.” Peter bared his teeth, standing up straighter. “I’d like to see you try.”

Kravinoff blinked, then suddenly smiled as he brought a hand down to the pommel of his large knife.

“Thank you, Spider-Man.”

As fast as he could, Peter shot his hand out and tried to web the soldier’s arms to his torso, but Kravinoff dodged the webs with ease. Peter swore. It wasn’t that his movements had been slowed by the dart from earlier – he could overcome the fatigue and nausea in bursts if he tried hard enough – but, rather, the man was as fast as a leopard.

Changing targets, Peter fired at the mercenary with the cowboy hat and managed to knock him to the ground with a web to his face that sent his headwear flying, but he barely had time to react before their leader was upon him, his knife fully drawn. He slashed and stabbed at his arms and legs, but always missed his mark mere inches as Peter kept his feet moving on the wet grass. Trying to gain some space, he dropped his entire body weight and slipped down between and past the man’s legs, tugging roughly at one of his boots as he did. Kravinoff yelped and fell to the grass in a wet, heavy slump. Even as Peter let go and jumped back up, the pockmarked man from before leaped at him with his electric prod before a well-aimed punch to his stomach sent him hurtling onto the grass like a ragdoll.

Suddenly, a loud roar behind him alerted Peter to yet another enemy. He turned to see the man, his body as large as a body-builder’s, charging across the plaza towards him, running right past his recovering leader. Peter tried to web up his feet, but his aim was thrown off by having to dodge another incoming dart from the darkness. With a grunt, the rhinoceros of a man closed in his outstretched arms and wrapped him in a tight bear hug, the wet grass having delayed Peter’s attempted escape by just one split second too many. He could smell the bearded man’s foul breath on his face as a vice-like grip tightened all around his arms and back, trying in vain to squeeze him into unconsciousness.

The pain was almost enough for Peter not to notice the sharp sting of a dart sinking in between his shoulder-blades.

_‘Dammit!’_

Craning his head back, Peter brought his forehead smashing down against the brawler’s bearded face as hard as he could. Blood splattered onto his mask as he heard the man’s nose crack under the impact, and a second later the grip around his torso loosened enough for Peter to slip out of his grasp. He reached over his shoulder to remove the dart as he landed on the grass before the bleeding and groaning mercenary, but had to give up on doing so and instead raise both his arms to block a swing from the recovered electric prod-wielding cowboy. He swung his right leg and just barely managed to knock him off balance, but before he could go in for a punch he had to renew his defences against a blow from the pockmarked man, who had also gotten back up. More sluggish than before, he barely managed to catch the man’s wrist.

 _‘Dammit! Dammit!’_ He was well aware of how bad the situation looked, and it was only turning worse by the second. Even though he felt that he could take down any one of the mercenaries one on one, the intensity and perseverance with which they kept coming at him as a group hardly left him any room to breathe or manoeuvre, something the snipers seemed to keenly realize.

_‘My senses are dulling by the second, I can’t get shot again. Fuck, all or nothing!’_

With a desperate yell, Peter tightened his grip on the man’s wrist and spun his upper body, lifting the mercenary off his feet. The pockmarked man dropped his electric prod and yelled as he was outright hurled like a heavy sack onto the nearby cowboy, both of them crumpling in a wet heap. Peter ducked, almost feeling the dart brushing by his neck, and quickly looked about.

Only the goateed man – Kravinoff – was still standing.

“Not bad for a cornered animal,” he drawled. “Your reputation seems to be well-earned.”

“You have no idea,” Peter hissed. _‘I can do this. Knock this guy down or aside and I’m home free.’_

“Good. Hold on to that fighting spirit.” Kravinoff grinned and raised his knife menacingly. “Here I come.”

Peter braced himself as the large man ran nimbly at him, unnerved by how different his movements suddenly seemed. On top of the contents of the darts slowing him down, the goateed man moved in a far more focused and erratic manner from before, his knife practically a blur as it cut through the air. Peter realized that escape was no longer an option until he could at least disable this opponent; the sheer intensity in his cold blue eyes belied that he would stop at nothing to take him down.

Kravinoff left no openings to expose, committed no missteps that could be acted on. It wasn’t long before Peter felt the first strike get through his defences, a burning pain on his left thigh where the blade had cut deep enough to draw a steady stream of blood and even left a gash in the suit. The hunter capitalized on his success and tossed the knife from one hand to another right under Peter’s nose, the blade slashing across his right shoulder so close enough to his face that he could almost make out the Cyrillic inscription on it.

Peter took two staggering steps backwards, trying to create as much distance as possible between himself and the knife. Kravinoff, surprisingly, relented in his attack and allowed him the retreat. The man looked at the blood on his blade, sheathed it, and held his fists out in a fighting stance.

“Best to tone things down a little,” he said, arching his back, “lest I accidentally kill you.”

Peter’s senses cried out in warning once again and he sidestepped to avoid a dart; by the time he focused back on Kravinoff, he was right on him. His fists moved just as quickly as his blade had, pummelling his sides and stomach before he could put up a proper resistance. The darts had made him too sluggish, too exhausted to counter his blows, which rained down on him unhindered. It seemed like adrenaline alone was keeping Peter going, and even that was being beaten out of his system.

_‘No, no… no! Can’t, won’t go out like this. I can’t… I have to see May again. MJ, Felicia... I won’t be taken…’_

He barely managed to block one of the strikes to his head with his palm, only for Kravinoff to follow up with an uppercut to his jaw that made his ears ring. His mouth was full of blood as the fist that had struck him suddenly opened to grasp him powerfully by the throat. Peter sputtered and kicked as he was painfully lifted off the grass by the tight grip that threatened to crush his throat. The mercenary leader grinned as he held him up high.

For the third time Peter felt a sharp, stinging sensation, this time on his right thigh, and the pressure crushing his throat was suddenly relieved. Dropping to the wet grass in a heap, he subconsciously retracted the mask from his head as he coughed violently, partially vomiting out all the blood he had almost choked on. Tears stung his eyes and his ears were still ringing, but the pain all over his body somehow felt dull and distant, like he was shutting down one limb at a time.

Kravinoff stood above him in the rain, the knuckles of his left hand smeared in blood as he glared down coldly. “It is over, then.”

Peter raised his head weakly, saw that the giant of a man was helping the other two mercenaries back up onto their feet. _‘Gotta go… gotta go before…’_

He bent his knees painfully as he tried to stand back up, every muscle in his body protesting fiercely as he did, but he had barely made it onto all fours when a hand roughly gripped him by the hair and yanked his head back.

He wasn’t even sure where the blow came from, but whatever shred of consciousness was still keeping him awake was instantly smashed out in one violent motion.

“Finally,” Montana muttered, massaging his gut as he approached the unconscious young man. “Sonuvabitch put up a good fight.”

“You sure you didn’t go just a little bit too far on him, sir?”

“No, Dan.” Sergei looked down at Peter Parker, his face covered in blood and showing the first signs of bruising even as the two gashes in his suit continued to seep with blood. “As soon as I saw him fight I knew I had to attack with an intent to kill. This prey had much more to it than I’d expected.”

“Yeah, but… can you believe it?” Dan kneeled over the boy and double-checked that he was still breathing. “Three shots? Aleksei would’ve been down for the count with just one…”

“I would not,” the giant rumbled sourly, holding a cloth up to his broken nose.

“How are we looking on witnesses?” Sergei asked.

“Well, look around.” Montana made a sweeping gesture of the campus around them. “Anyone glancing out the window could’ve seen us. So this was either a coliseum full of spectators or an empty one… depends on what was showing on TV.”

“Kids these days don’t watch TV anymore, Montana,” Dan drawled.

“Hush!” Sergei held up a hand and then brought a finger up to his ear. “Natasha, Sable, get to the extraction point, make sure it’s clear. Then call in SHIELD.” He turned a hard gaze towards the three men standing near him. “Come on, let’s move out before any prefects get us in trouble.”

It was a form of consciousness. Sub-consciousness, rather. But then again not quite.

“I’ve been here before.”

It had been different then. A monologue. He could hear himself now – he could almost see. A white brilliance – everywhere. Forever.

“This isn’t my mind.”

_That’s impossible for your kind._

“So it’s…”

_In between._

“Between?”

_Between us._

Peter looked around, searched for the source of the voice.

He found it.

It was everything, all around.

He was inside it.

_You know what I am._

He nodded.

_Acknowledge me._

“You’re the symbiote.”

_Embrace me._

He hesitated for a long moment. Then –

“We’re Spider-Man.”

_Yesss._

He had been here once before. On the night Uncle Ben had died.

_It has been some time._

“You can read my thoughts? Talk through them?”

_We are linked, you and I._

“Is this in my brain?”

_This is not… biological._

“Then what?”

_This is… spiritual._

“I don’t understand.”

There was a vast, white silence. Comforting, timeless.

_Time. Not much left anymore._

“For me?”

_For this world._

“What do you mean?”

_The Hunter approaches._

“The Hunter? Kravinoff?”

_The Son of Korbin._

“What?”

_It makes no – difference. No difference. Not if Peter Parker dies tonight._

He was silent for some time.

“I lost. I was beaten.”

_We were. Not Spider-Man._

“But we are Spider-Man.”

_The concept is the result and the formula both._

“What?”

_Together we became Spider-Man – your mind and heart, my stars and light. A thing of beauty was born._

“A concept.”

_One that lives and breathes. You are the host, so it is you. But you can reverse the roles. It can be set loose, can become something new. A shell to aid us._

It was dialogue. Mere dialogue.

There was no room for fear.

Nor was there any need for it.

“What must I do?”

_Just as I lived within you, you will live within me. I will save us, and you will be shown._

_I will unleash it. For you, for us. To end the hunt. To live. To love._

“Unleash what?”

_Carnage._

“Sergei,” Natasha said, patting the team leader on the shoulder. “Look.”

“Hm?” He turned his head to see her pointing towards the unconscious Peter Parker. They had bandaged up his shoulder and leg to stop the bleeding but, other than that, he was just a pathetic pile lying in the empty parking lot where they awaited their extraction. The kid was flanked by Montana and Aleksei, who had carried him the whole way in the incessant rain. “What of him?”

“Don’t you see? His suit…”

He narrowed his eyes and saw it. Discolorations, swirls of some sort that seemed to move down the length of his body like snakes. They were crimson, looked just like…

_‘Blood.’_

The unconscious body suddenly jerked in place, making Montana jump and draw his electric prod.

“Whoa! What the hell?” The American warily leaned in closer. “Still got some fight in him?”

“Something’s wrong,” Natasha hissed, reaching into a satchel for another tranquilizer dart as she swung her rifle out from her back.

Sergei was staring at the body, every instinct in his body suddenly flaring into alertness. _‘What’s going on?’_

“Aleksei, Montana, get away from him.”

“Just a spasm, there’s-” Aleksei gasped audibly midsentence as Peter Parker began to rise up onto his knees.

The suit had formed a mask around his head again as more and more red swirls spread around his body, thickening so that by the time he was back on all fours it had practically changed from black to red.

The other team members had already turned around and drawn their weapons at the commotion.

Montana swore and raised his electric prod, aiming it down at Parker’s back.

“Montana!” Sergei drew his pistol as he called out. “Wait!”

The mercenary stabbed downwards with the prod, eliciting a shower of sparks onto the dark, wet pavement as it shot electricity into the boy’s back. The blinding lightshow went on for a few seconds, until he finally retracted his weapon to check the results.

Parker moved quickly, lithely. Rising to his full height, he grabbed the prod before Montana could withdraw it and pulled it right out of his hands. Then, with a single swift motion he smashed it across the man’s face, knocking him down with a pained yelp, before bounding right past Aleksei and deeper into the lot beyond a row of cars.

There was a moment of stunned silence as the rain continued to patter on the ground.

“Dammit!” Sergei roared. “Sable, Natasha, get to vantage points – SUVs, boxes, anything! The rest of you, get over here.”

“Montana,” Aleksei said, kneeling down and picking up his companion’s soaked, fallen hat. “You okay?”

“Fucker knocked out a tooth… how can he still get up like that?” He spat blood onto the pavement. “It’s impossible!”

Sergei saw the nervous, querying look that Dan shot him and ignored it. He himself had no answers, no idea what the hell had just happened. _‘It shouldn’t be possible. What’s more, his movements were totally different from before. Like…’_ He shook his head, focussed on recovering the objective before the extraction team got there. _‘Fucking mutants – always got one more trick up their sleeves.’_

The lot was located near ESU’s park, not too far from where the mutant couple had been captured a few days prior. Once he’d confirmed that Spider-Man had been tracked down to the campus grounds, SHIELD operators had assured him that the area would be cleared of civilians for a safe extraction by the time the team got there. _‘I knew we should have just gotten picked up from the damn plaza.’_

Looking about cautiously as he moved towards the parked cars, Sergei couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Nothing about Parker’s movements when he’d attacked and fled from Montana had fit the profile he’d drawn up of him, nor was there any way a human could still have so much strength left to fight and flee with such speed. He ground his teeth in frustration. _‘Once again jumping into a situation blindly. Just because we thought we knew all there was to know about Spider-Man…’_

As the team moved further away from the cleared half of the lot they wove their way between several cars of varying sizes. Dan checked under several of them as they methodically inspected every corner as a team, Natasha having taken up a position atop a vacant guard booth while Sable had headed off to look for a tall enough van.

“If the bastard’s fled, then we’re shit outta luck,” Montana muttered. “We’re getting close to the fence now.”

“No,” Sergei drawled, surprised by the sudden wariness in his voice. “Something’s changed. Something in the air.”

“What do you mean?”

Sergei licked his lips, suddenly recalling an old sensation he’d never thought to experience again – not since his first Siberian hunt.

“I don’t think we’re the ones doing the hunting anymore.”

“Sir!” Aleksei suddenly waved sharply at him from behind a couple of large delivery vans. “Here!”

Sergei and the two other men quickly rushed over to his position and looked in the direction he was pointing. Reflected in a large puddle of water gathered near the front of the van they were standing behind was a vague, dark shape; red and unmoving.

The white tiger had surprised them all, mauling two hunters and making off with a third…

_‘Something’s wrong. Something in the air.’_

His reservations notwithstanding, Sergei transmitted the signal to the two snipers and turned back towards the three men with his left hand lifted high, ready to give the command to engage.

He saw the expressions on his men’s faces, hardened veterans all, before he heard the noises.

He knew just from the sound of the wet footsteps that what slowly emerged from around the front of the van wasn’t the same person they’d just fought against on the campus grounds; they were heavy, and indicative of movement like…

…like a predator.

Sergei turned around, gasped.

The thing that had ambled between the vans was not Peter Parker, although Sergei suspected that up until just moments ago it had been. The body had somehow grown, pulsating with muscles that no longer looked like red streaks under his suit but bulging, exposed flesh. The body’s proportions were similar, like the man was still in there, but the way its back was arched up as it moved on all fours utterly blurred any resemblance to a human. The large, white eyes on his mask now looked small, even beady, as it glared at them directly in the pattering rain.

Sergei could only stare as it opened its mouth to taste the damp air with a long, disfigured tongue, double rows of large human teeth extending haphazardly all the way down its angular head.

It crouched motionless, staring.

Sizing them up.

A small tone beeped in Sergei’s earpiece as Natasha asked for an update. His mouth was dry as he ignored the question, carefully tightening the grip on his knife. Turning his head slowly, he saw the sheer shock and disgust in his men’s faces, mixed with a rising dosage of fear. He imagined that his expression betrayed much of the same.

Dan shook his head and looked to him desperately. “Sir-”

The creature that had been Peter Parker leapt noiselessly, instantly. It bounded at them between the vans like it weighed nothing at all, and only by dropping flat on his stomach did Sergei evade the gaping maw of incisors that flashed past him, the heat from its body as intense as a raging fire’s. His men yelled out and backed away as it landed in their midst, holding out their weapons protectively. Dan jabbed with his electric prod, only for the beast to bite right into it and snap it in twain. Montana grabbed his companion by the scruff of his uniform and pulled him away as a gnarled, clawed hand raked the air where his face had been a split second before.

Sergei, now alone with the creature in the corridor between the two vans, scrambled up onto his feet as he switched to the team frequency as he finally found his voice again.

“Get out in the open! Snipers, switch to live ammo! Shoot to maim!”

The mutant monstrosity snapped its head back towards him, spittle flying from its mouth.

He was bolting down the alley of vans in an instant, but Sergei knew from what he’d seen that he would never make it through in time. Suddenly feeling an intense heat on the back of his neck, he forcefully dropped back onto the ground and rolled under one of the vans in one smooth motion. The creature instantly adapted to his evasion and just barely managed to slash his arm with two claws before he could roll his way to the other side of the vehicle.

Jumping up onto his feet and ignoring the bleeding gashes, Sergei kept moving towards his men, who standing further away from the parked cars, their sidearms drawn as they loaded live ammunition into them. _‘Should’ve brought bigger guns. Damn!’_ He was about to order them into formation when he heard a loud thump behind and above him.

When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw it leering right at him from the van’s roof, its hideous tongue hanging out its mouth.

A sound like thunder boomed across the lot as one of the snipers opened fire. The round seemed to hit the creature in the leg, sending a thin spray of blood up into the air and…

…and nothing. It didn’t roar, didn’t fall, didn’t even take its small beady eyes off Sergei for even just a second.

Rows and rows of disfigured teeth jutted out haphazardly, almost seeming to form a grin…

_‘God.’_

The bullet, a large enough calibre to have blown a hole in any man’s leg, hadn’t left much more than a small dark mark upon its flesh-like body.

The second round, visibly impacting its other leg just enough to make it flinch, only served to confirm Sergei’s worst fears.

He didn’t even have to give the order for his men to disperse as he sprinted madly away. They did so of their own accord, running between parked cars or back around the vans as they avoided grouping up. Sergei sheathed his hunting blade and drew his firearm, making sure to load live rounds into it as he ducked behind a car.

_‘Insanity. Beyond any mutant I’ve ever seen, or even heard about. We need explosives and armour-piercing rounds, not electric prods…’_

He had a clear view of Montana as it got to him first. The American was trying to scramble up to where Sergei was when it caught him by the shoulder, sinking its teeth in deep enough to instantly draw blood. He screamed as it lifted him effortlessly off his feet and began shaking him about limply, like a cat that had caught a mouse.

Sergei was on his way to help when he saw Aleksei fall upon the creature from behind with a furious yell, shooting it in the back at point blank range with his pistol. The grotesque thing dropped Montana like a limp rag and, unfazed by the attack, stood up on two legs like a human, towering over even Aleksei as it turned to face him. Before the man could do anything it swiftly grabbed both his arms and yanked them hard in opposite directions.

The snapping sound reached all the way to Sergei and made him hesitate as Aleksei was lifted like a doll by his useless limbs, screaming in pain and terror as his face was brought towards the creature’s grinning maw.

Despite the cold, clammy fear in his gut Sergei took careful aim with his pistol, knowing what little effect its bullets would have. Viscous drool was falling on Aleksei’s face in patters, but he seemed to be partially passed out from his injuries.

A strong, blaring headlight suddenly cast the thing and its quarry in bright light, making it hesitate.

One of the cars further down the lot had roared to life directly behind them, and Sergei knew who had likely hotwired it before he caught sight of the flash of white hair in the driver’s seat. The car’s engine was being revved repeatedly like a growling animal, and after a moment of uncertainty the beast dropped the unconscious Aleksei heavily next to Montana.

“Sergei!” Natasha was sprinting past him towards her downed comrades, her rifle slung over her shoulder.

The team leader didn’t waste any time, running in tandem with her while the mutant had its back to them and strenuously grabbing Aleksei by the shirt without even breaking his stride. He lifted the heavy man up and fled just as Natasha picked up Montana. For a moment they had both been close enough to the creature to feel the intense heat coming off its body, but they didn’t look back as the revving car finally spun into motion.

The creature’s attention was briefly split between the rescue and Sable so that it could only stand in place as the vehicle – a sturdy-looking four by four – instantly crossed the distance between them and rammed into it at full power. Sergei looked over his shoulder to see the four by four pinning the mutant against one of the parking lot’s walls with a deafening crash, its airbag going off as bits of plaster and cement flew in every direction. Once the vehicle was still the door popped open and a dazed Sable stumbled out of the driver’s seat on shaky legs, trying to get away from the crash as quickly as possible.

The creature, seemingly unfazed, noiselessly began pushing against the dented and leaking grill in an attempt to free itself. Sable, blood dripping down her forehead, looked back at the noise and reached into her pocket as she continued to limp. Recognizing the glint in her hand, Sergei used his body to shield his unconscious subordinate even before she yelled out and tossed the grenade into the empty driver’s seat.

The ear-deafening explosion sent out a wave of heat and force that almost toppled him over as he covered Aleksei protectively. Sergei glanced up with narrowed eyes just in time to see Sable being flung violently against a nearby car, smashing a passenger seat window and slumping to the ground in an unconscious heap. He swore, knowing that she must have realized she would never get clear of the explosion in time.

“Dan!” He held a finger to his ear and hoped that the pockmarked mercenary’s ears weren’t ringing nearly as bad as his were. “Sable’s down, we need you here now!”

The crashed car was now a burning wreck stinking of gasoline and fumes, a large billowy cloud of smoke reaching up towards the rainy skies. Hearing footsteps behind him, Sergei looked about to see Natasha kneel over Aleksei with a small first-aid kit just as Dan darted in from another part of the lot to check on Sable.

“What the hell is going on, Sergei?” She stared at him with emerald-green eyes filled with fear. “This is far above and beyond any of the parameters.”

Sergei coughed, having breathed in soot from the explosion. “We were sent to capture a cat, and it turned out to be a tiger.”

“Now’s not the time for that crap!” She snapped. “Aleksei’s arms have been _split_ , Sergei. I thought we were fucking hunting down Spider-Man!”

“As did I.” He swallowed, hiding his shaking right hand behind his leg. “But it seems there’s a little more to our quarry than meets the eye.”

“We need to get the hell out of here!”

“I know. What’s the ETA on the chopper?”

“A minute, I think.”

“Then it’s a minute more than-”

They both looked up in unison as the burning wreckage of the crashed car suddenly rose vertically into the air. Sergei had not for a moment believed that the car gamble would be enough to stop that which they’d inadvertently set into motion, but that forethought didn’t make the sight any less disheartening.

Bits of plastic and metal fell from the vehicle as it was lifted up like a trapdoor, from under which emerged the hideous mass of teeth and flesh that had been birthed upon the world mere minutes before. It dropped the car behind it with a screeching clang and stepped towards them, the raging flames outlining its dark-red profile against the pouring rain.

“No fucking way!” Dan shouted shrilly, supporting a dazed Sable over his shoulder.

“Dan, Natasha!” Sergei got up on one knee, his eyes never once leaving the beast. “Get the wounded away from here, now!”

Dan didn’t hesitate to retreat for even a moment, swearing to himself as he tried to get away as quickly as Sable’s weight would allow him. Sergei could feel Natasha’s eyes on his back for a moment longer, but she too quickly began dragging Aleksei away from the cars and towards the planned landing zone.

Sergei looked down at the loaded pistol in his hand before tossing it onto the ground with a clatter. Rising up to his full height, he drew his hunting knife from its sheath.

_‘Is this the first time I’ll have pulled out this blade with honourable intent? To ensure at least some of them get out safely?’_

He wished he could truly believe that such an outcome were possible.

The thing ran at him, focused and noiseless as before; not so much as a grunt, growl or hiss emanated from its disgusting mouth as it closed the distance between them in a second.

Sergei dove to the side while slashing blindly and felt the blade meet something hard, like boiled leather. He’d barely rolled back up into a crouch when he saw a clawed hand tear downwards at his face. Jumping back awkwardly, he tried to control his breathing, the unbearable heat coming off the creature’s body almost overwhelming him before he could dive away. As the beast leaped and slashed at him again he nimbly dodged to its side and flung his blade from one hand to the other, his entire focus now on its small, beady eye.

Suddenly, the thing twisted its upper body unexpectedly and knocked the knife aside before he could grab it, sending it clattering into the darkness.

Sergei’s breath caught in his throat.

_‘Are you still in there, Peter Parker?’_

He was smashed with such force against the car behind him that its rear door window shattered wholesale, the glass rending his arms with small cuts as the crimson thing pinned him down. Wrapping its long, gnarled fingers about his wrists like they were breadsticks it lifted him into the air even as he gasped for air. Dazed, he thought for sure that it would snap his arms like it had Aleksei’s, or even tear them off wholesale. Instead, it flung him back down onto the wet asphalt with enough force to make some of his teeth crack like ice.

Time seemed to slow as a white-hot fire tore through his lungs. Tears of pain stung his eyes as the soldier in him distantly registered his crushed ribs, broken arm and fractured skull.

The thing was back on all fours, stooping above him so close that he felt like he was being exposed to a sauna’s coals. Its snout hovered above his chest and neck for a moment before it opened its maw wide, like a blossoming flower full of mismatched human teeth. A disfigured tongue swirled about pendulously like a blood-red eel, behind which lay nothing but pitch-blackness.

Drooling blood and wheezing for breathe, all the air having been knocked out of his lungs, Sergei could only stare mutely into the void as it closed in around him. Perfect darkness, like the cold embrace of death itself…

And for the first time in his entire life, Sergei Kravinoff felt true terror.

_Delectable. We know you feel so._

“Yes. It is.”

_Revenge often is._

“But still…”

_But still?_

“It’s too much. Too far.”

_It’s just human life._

“It’s not me. I can’t.”

_Does it matter? Do you now plan to return there… to the surface?_

“I… I can’t tell the difference between you and me anymore.”

_No. Our bond is consummated._

“We are one.”

_We are one._

“Then… this is not _us._ ”

Silence.

_This is Spider-Man as we have moulded him. My hunger, your rage. My strength, your pain. Our love, our carnage._

“I acknowledge you. I acknowledge us.”

Blissful silence.

“But this… it is not us. We are us. Here, always.”

_It is too late._

“No… no it isn’t. Return control to me.”

_It is no longer mine to give. It is now his._

“Please…”

Hesitation, then…

_You will feel pain again. The world without my shell will cut and sear you._

“That’s fine.”

_No. It is not. But now that we are joined, you will always have succour. Always remember this power, forever within your grasp._

“How do I regain control?”

_From two we made one, and again we must make two. You must wrest it from him._

“How?”

_He must be excised. Somewhere safe, familiar. And though you might not, he will always remember._

“What?”

_His jealousy. His love._

It was the scream that made Sergei open his eyes.

He had not wanted to look, to see as his own flesh was consumed, devoured. He wanted the void he looked upon to be a false one of his own making, not a real one ringed by teeth and flesh and hunger. But he had to open his eyes when he heard the scream.

It was a man’s voice. Broken, brittle, lost within the hideous pit before him. Sergei dared look upon it.

“Peter Parker,” he whispered.

The thing arched its back like a cat, the scream now betraying pain and desperation. Hideous, anguished, unceasing. Doubling over, the beast looked like it wanted to vomit. As it lifted itself away from him he again felt the cool rain falling on his body as the intense heat disappeared with the creature that emanated it. His eyes followed it as he remained perfectly still, too pained and terrified to move even a single muscle.

The behemoth snapped its angular head back towards him and suddenly, for the first time since its first attack, Sergei recognized something deep within its beady eye he had never expected to see: sadness. Harrowing, pure, animalistic.

Directed straight at him.

The creature bounded off into the night, car alarms going off across the parking lot as it haphazardly bounded across them to clear a fence with blinding speed.

He remained frozen in place for a long time after, his wide-open eyes only leaving the darkness into which the beast had disappeared when he heard the steady thrumming of the approaching helicopter over the patter of rainfall.

Suddenly, Natasha was by his side again. She kneeled by his shoulder and looked him over worriedly.

“Where are you hurt, Sergei?”

 _‘Everywhere.’_ “Busted ribs, right arm broken. My skull is fractured.”

“Jesus. Don’t move, the helicopter’s here.”

He screwed his eyes shut. It hurt to talk. It hurt to even _think_.

“Is everyone safe?”

“If by safe you mean alive, then yes, barely.” She smiled wryly, then glanced nervously in the direction the mutant had disappeared to. “What’s our next move?”

“I think,” he blinked painfully, “that it’s about time you booked us a flight back home, Natasha.”


	9. Chapter 9

Felicia had been on the verge of dozing off, her laptop threatening to slide off her legs and onto the bed as The Truman Show played on its screen, when the sudden ring of her cellphone made her snap to attention and instinctively hold the computer in place. Stopping the movie, she checked the caller’s number and frowned, not recognizing it. She glanced at the time in the corner of her monitor as she hit the receiver button: 09:12 PM.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice, old and worried, sounded through the small speakers. “Felicia Hardy?”

“Yes?”

“This is Empire State University’s student centre. We apologize for the late call, but had to inquire if you have seen or heard from Peter Parker today?”

“Peter?” The mention of the name abruptly filled her with a confused swirl of emotions, but confusion at the unexpected question took the lead spot. “No. Why?”

“You’re listed as one of his emergency contacts, and his aunt is not picking up her home phone.”

She blinked in surprise. She hadn’t known about this arrangement in the slightest.

“There was a break-in at his dormitory room and witnesses reported a fight of some kind on the campus plaza,” the woman continued, sounding genuinely concerned. “If you do hear-”

“Wait, wait, a break-in?” _‘What? What the hell?’_ “Like a burglary, or…”

“No, nothing was stolen. We-” She seemed hesitant to speak her mind, perhaps fearing some sort of consequences. “For now, we’re calling it a disappearance, so-”

Felicia could feel her blood freezing over as she tried to process the news. “Disappearance? What? You mean a kidnapping?”

“We can’t, as of right-”

One by one, her tumultuous emotions began to push through the haze of confusion. “Was his cell phone gone?”

There was silence on the line, through which she could distantly hear a bustle of frantic voices in the background.

“Well?”

“Peter Parker’s phone and keys were found in his room, but-”

Felicia hung up and put her phone and laptop aside. Her healing ribs ached in protest at the sudden motion, but she barely noticed the pain as her mind raced desperately for an explanation. _‘This has got to be some kind of joke. He was here today, just this morning. He was sitting right here on this bed…’_

As she sat upright on the edge of her bed she simply stared directly ahead at her wardrobe, the rain softly pattering against the window’s pane. _‘Kidnapped? Peter? Bullshit. Impossible.’_ She shook her head, for a moment almost thinking that this could be some sort of elaborate prank. _‘Ridiculous. Who would kidnap Peter? Why? Osborn money?’_

Before she knew it she was standing up, still staring at her wardrobe. _‘Maybe he’s with MJ? No, the uni would’ve checked. Harry Osborn? Wait, don’t be an idiot, there was a break-in!’_ She clenched her jaw. _‘Something’s happened, and it’s not just Peter coincidentally being out of touch on the one night someone breaks into room. His phone was… his keys...’_

The enormity of the situation finally hit Felicia like a wave of deep fear. She felt a twisting coldness in her gut as she looked out the window from the corner of her eye, regarding the rain and neon lights outside. She could see her own sad and bruised reflection on the glass.

_‘Peter’s been kidnapped? In New York City, right out of his dorm? He of all people? What, for ransom? What sort of b-movie nonsense is this? He was just here today. We were talking. He-’_

She felt a painful lump in her throat.

 _‘No. No way.’_ She drew up every last ounce of resolve and anger she could, used it to drown out the sadness and despair. _‘Not me, I’m not going to just sit here and cry myself numb. He’s out there, somewhere. Somewhere. I have to look. I have to move.’_

Already in her street clothes, her mind made up, she broke her gaze away from the window and limped out of her bedroom.

Her father was watching a football game in the living room, as he did most nights, but was still sober enough to notice her heading towards the entrance.

“Felicia?” He called out from his reclining chair, his shock of blonde hair a mess as he looked back at her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going out,” she said, not sparing him a glance. “It’s an emergency.”

“What?” He sprang up from his chair so quickly that he staggered for a moment before quickly making his way over to her. “What emergency?”

She stopped by her shoes and met his blue-eyed gaze, though it took her considerable resolve to do so. “A friend-”

“A friend?” He narrowed his eyes and regarded her like she was acting insane. “Felicia, I told you, you can’t leave the house right now, not with the heat-”

“Dad!” She slipped on her sneakers with her one good hand without breaking eye contact. “I have to go. He might be in trouble.”

“He? Ah, let me guess, Peter Parker?” He sneered. “Of course. Your only friend?”

She ignored him and reached for her coat, but he barred her way.

“Felicia, you’re not being _smart_. I told you to always be smart!”

_‘If I hadn’t gotten myself hurt pulling off your idiotic heist I could be out there right now, looking for him. That would’ve been smart.’_

“I’m a grown-ass woman,” she hissed. “I’m going, dad.”

He continued to glare at her, seemingly hoping to cow her into obedience with his presence alone.

_‘That doesn’t work on me anymore.’_

After a few seconds he finally sighed and shook his head, taking a step towards the living room. “You’re being stupid, Felicia. I can’t stop you, but you know the risks. We’re going to have to have a long talk when you get back.”

“Yeah,” she said, pulling out her green raincoat and opening the door in one angry motion. “We will.”

The apartment’s dingy corridor was almost pitch-black as she slammed the door shut behind her.

_‘I’m not an idiot. I’m not crazy. I know I can only try out a few places. This is New York City, not some small country town.’_ Felicia swallowed, her throat feeling dry and raw. _‘But I have to move, have to stay active. I can’t help it.’_

“This is?” The cab driver turned a corner down a suburban street.

Felicia looked around, trying to get her bearings in the rainy night, and wracked her brains for the exact address to May Parker’s new house. “Should be. Number twenty-four, I think.”

“Number tweeenty-four…” the cabbie drawled. “That the one? With all the police cars?”

“What?” Felicia leaned forward to look out the windshield. Three squad cars were indeed parked outside the new Parker home, their lights blaring rhythmically. The front door to the house was open, and Felicia could see two policemen talking just past the entrance.

 _‘Oh no.’_ She felt her stomach dropping as cold shivers enveloped her. _‘No, no. The cops… it doesn’t look like they found him here. They’re just waiting around.’_ She had hardly expected to find Peter at his aunt’s home, but it had seemed like an obvious first place to look. Of course the police would think likewise.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Please stop the car. You can keep the metre running.”

“Okay…”

She leaned back against the filthy back seat, thinking. _‘Fuck. Peter…’_ She could keep looking for him all night, in every restaurant and shop they had ever frequented together over the past years, but none of those locations would make any sense. To go out looking for someone in a cab when they were reported as kidnapped was already hare-brained enough. She had followed her gut on the hopeful assumption that, by some slim miracle, he had disappeared of his own accord. It only made sense to check places where Peter Parker could disappear to – to do so was the sole remaining concept she could persistently follow before having to finally accept the notion that her best friend had been abducted right out of his bedroom.

_‘Not his home… a secret place.’_

It was a distant memory, but the fact that it had been brought up only recently made it immediately spring to mind.

 _‘The secret base. Where I did my training…’_ Felicia shook her head. It seemed so unlikely, so improbable. So far-fetched.

But she had nothing to lose.

She leaned forward while trying to remember the warehouse’s rough address. “Listen, there’s actually a different place I want to go to.”

“Okay. It’s your money.”

The place was a dump, just like she remembered it. Broken windows, graffiti along its entire length, and a broken-down car next to its entrance for good measure, it was truly the image of a decrepit old building, too unimportant to even be granted the final release of demolition.

The only thing to have changed about her old training grounds was that it had become a safe dump in the long months that Spider-Man had spent swinging around Queens. Despite the building’s sinister appearance in the rainy night, the street was completely devoid of people. It wasn’t a dangerous place anymore; just a dead one.

Rain pattered down on Felicia’s coat as she limped towards the entrance, only once glancing over her shoulder at the darkness around her. The cab driver had refused to simply wait around in such a dodgy area and had driven off, but he left her with his card in case she came to her senses and wanted to get the hell out of there quickly.

The entrance’s door handle was coated in rust, but it still clicked when Felicia pushed it down. The door swung open creakingly, and she briskly stepped over the threshold.

The warehouse’s interior was gloomy, barely lit at all. Parts of it where the glow from the moon couldn’t reach were coated in pitch-darkness, and the sound of rainfall tapping against what windows echoed across its decrepit walls. It was largely empty – only a dozen tall, empty shelves lined its right side while a single large cargo container, devoid of contents, occupied a prominent space in the room’s left half. Felicia could remember using all of those items in her training sessions, and could even better recall all the times she’d sustained injuries falling off or crashing into them. But she hadn’t come to this place for the memories.

Leaving the door open behind her, she took three steps into the building and called out.

“Peter?”

Her brittle, pained voice rang through the forlorn place.

And that was it.

The small handful of desperate, cosmically unlikely hope she’d still held on to burned up like a moth in a flame and with it, so did her resolve. The true depth of her desperation only revealed itself then, as she finally acknowledged that she was alone in a decrepit warehouse on a rainy night in a forgotten part of Queens. It seemed mad, laughable. Sad.

She clenched her jaw, sniffled in the dark silence. She wanted to scratch her nose.

She wanted to cry.

Her mind was in such turmoil, on the very verge of bursting into true helplessness, that she almost jumped for fright when something did shuffle in the darkness beyond the container.

At first it was an animal kind of fear that took hold of her – the ancient type that instinctually tried to protect one from shadows lurking in the dark.

It was only when she focussed on the origin of the sound and saw the thin, glinting trail of blood leading around the corner of the large container that her fear bloomed into a powerful terror.

 _‘Jesus. Jesus Christ.’_ She took a staggering step backwards, then another, until she felt her left heel bump against the door’s frame. _‘Blood. Fresh blood.’_

All the fear and wariness that any normal person would have felt at entering a dark, empty place like this completely alone – all of which she had managed to suppress by focusing single-mindedly on her hopes – suddenly surfaced and began ringing in her head like an incessant alarm bell. _‘No one knows I’m here. Jesus, Jesus, I should leave. I- I-’_

She stayed there at the threshold, poised to flee out through the door on a moment’s notice. Almost every instinct in her body was urging her to do so.

Almost.

Felicia breathed shallowly, her heart racing madly in her throat as she took a trembling step forward again.

_‘This is it. This is how I die. Like some moron in a horror movie. This has got to be the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever done.’_

And yet.

And yet.

And yet…

_‘But what if it’s him?’_

Her steps were slow and cautious as she made every effort not to make the slightest sound, trying to forget that she had already loudly declared her presence before by calling out thoughtlessly. Soon, she had almost made it up to the dark streak on the floor. Trembling, she reached into her shorts’ pocket and withdrew her phone, pressing a random button on it to illuminate the area with its screen. The weak lighting hardly helped, other than for her to confirm that the fresh liquid on the floor was indeed a dark red crimson that led in a tight curve around the container.

Although it hurt her bruised and healing body to do so, she tensed every muscle she could in anticipation for a sudden flight.

The light from her screen abruptly went out and she quickly tapped the button again to turn it back on.

Felicia took another step and looked around the crate.

Her first reaction was confusion and fear bordering on panic, followed by recognition and horror. Shock, relief, disbelief, confusion… it was all a marred hodgepodge that stuck in her throat, only to find release in the one whispered word that escaped her dry throat.

“Peter…”

He was there.

Battered, bruised, collapsed in a wet pile on the dusty floor, wearing only soaked trunks and a t-shirt. He looked unconscious, his mouth agape and almost touching the floor as he breathed in quick, shallow breaths. The trail of blood lead right up to his right leg, where an entire piece of skin and flesh roughly the size of a finger was missing, the gaping wound still bleeding freshly.

He was there.

“Peter!”

All of Felicia’s fear and anxiety vanished in an instant like smoke in a gale, and she dropped the phone in her hand as she ran over to him over the pain in her bruised legs. Her mind was abuzz as she kneeled down and carefully touched his cheek.

It was almost more than she could bear, so strong were the emotions coursing through her as she felt him suddenly flinch at her touch. Joy, elation and relief danced hand in hand with worry, bewilderment and urgency. Feelings she never could have imagined herself feeling that morning were drawn out onto the surface by the bizarre situation. Deep feelings, confused feelings...

 _‘A miracle.’_ For such a lunatic, desperate, thin and hopeless idea to have actually borne fruit… _‘Could it have been my powers? Even all the luck in the world couldn’t have just dropped Peter down here…’_

“Felicia?” His voice was weak with the effort of waking up as he brought a hand up to meet hers over his cheek. He blinked and looked up at her through his matted brown hair. His hazel eyes were full of surprise and confusion as they locked with hers, but there was a spark of something more after a second, something...

 _‘Dammit.’_ She smiled, trying to maintain her composure. _‘Son of a bitch, I think I do love you after all.’_

“Peter,” she whispered, finally finding her voice again as she slowly let go of his cheek. “What happened?”

“What?” He blinked, raised lifted himself up with an elbow to better face her. “Where are we?”

“Where? Don’t you remember? You disappeared from your dorm room.” Her eyes darted over the wealth of fresh bruises bedecking his body. “It looks like someone attacked you…”

He nodded slowly, wincing as he seemed to notice the wound in his leg for the first time.

“You don’t know how you got here?”

He shook his head groggily, then looked down at the ground. “There was a fight…”

“Were you kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped?” His eyes shot up to meet hers again, an uncertain look in them. “I… guess you could say that.”

Felicia knew that there was something strange about his reaction, but pressed on regardless.

“Are they still around, the kidnappers? Did you escape?”

Peter opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to hesitate.

“No,” he finally said. “I mean, we should be safe here.”

 _‘It’s fine.’_ She could tell at a glance that he knew more than he was letting on, could sense with ease that he was picking his words carefully even though he had just woken up dazed and in a strange place. But she didn’t let it bother her in the slightest. _‘He might have a million reasons for being evasive. Nothing, nothing in the slightest, is normal about this situation. He needs time, that’s for sure.’_

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t get up. I’m going to call an ambulance, and we’ll get the hell out of here ASAP.”

Felicia could feel Peter’s eyes on her as she stood and turned to look for her phone. She had just located it a few steps away and was making her way over to it when she faintly heard him shuffling onto his feet behind her.

“People like me don’t get to stay in hospitals.”

The sudden choice of words made her freeze in her tracks. Frowning, she turned back towards him.

The moonlight streaming in through the broken windows was the only real light source in the whole warehouse, but even so she would never have failed to recognize that mask or the large white spider adorning his chest. He was standing upright as he faced her, leaning more on one leg to take pressure off his injury.

She took a step back, her eyes wide. When she finally managed to speak, it was barely even a whisper.

“Peter...”

As if on cue, the mask she had so come to both fear and respect suddenly disappeared. It seemingly came apart on its own, thread by thread until there was nothing there but the worried and bruised gaze of her best friend. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

All of a sudden, it felt like some deep, vital switch within her mind had been flipped as every moment that had felt off or wrong in the past few months finally found the missing component that could explain it. His sudden disappearance during the Brooklyn Disaster and the infrequency of their time together thereafter, his unexplained departure from their reunion, the hesitation and confusion in his eyes when he’d gone to her room with the intent to tell her something vital…

_‘He wanted to tell me this morning. He wanted to tell me, but couldn’t because I told him first. And I was so mad at him, seething, thinking he’d come to say…’_

There he stood, her best friend whom she’d known since they were both children. Who had always been there for her, had put up with all her inanities and laughed easily at her dumbest jokes. The most wanted man in New York City…

 _‘He’s been doing this all this time, going out into the city and going after people like me.’_ She suddenly remembered how he had let her go rather than letting Iron Man bring her in, had bought her time to escape. How could he have possibly felt when she’d admitted in her bedroom to being Black Cat just a day after they’d fought on that rooftop?

Her heart was racing as she tried to say something, anything.

“I… I had no idea.”

Peter seemed vastly relieved on hearing her words, like he’d thought she might never have wanted to speak with him again.

“I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve told you everything.” Something in his stance emanated a vast sorrow. “I’m sorry, Felicia.”

She shook her head and moved towards him, processing the information with every passing second as she looked him up and down. The suit was torn around the spot on his calf where he had been injured, the wound slowly pouring blood over the black fabric. She reached out a hand but didn’t touch him, simply blinking as she stared at the white symbol on his rising and falling chest.

“When – how long have you been…” She nodded towards his suit.

“Ten months, give or take.” He glanced down at his right hand. “Some kind of… experimental spider bit me on the Triskelion.” He grimaced at his own words. “But I only really started after… after Uncle Ben died.”

“Ten months?” An odd sensation coursed through her gut. _‘That’s roughly as long as I’ve been doing this… maybe a bit less.’_ “Beck wrote about… experiments on animals relating to the Ueno impact…” She blushed lightly at how embarrassing those words sounded after she’d blurted them out.

Peter, however, smiled for the first time that night. “Looks like Beck might finally have been on the money. I think…” He seemed to search for the right words, like had never spoken them to anyone else before. “I suspect they found something in Ueno and they put it in a test spider. When the accident occurred… if it really was an accident… the spider bit me and…” He hesitated.

“It… put the thing in you? An alien thing?” _‘So he’s not a mutant… not really. My God.’_

Peter nodded, then grimaced again. “I got the powers… and the suit.” He avoided her gaze as he spoke, and barely seemed capable of getting the words out.

Felicia understood at once. Some people in print and online had theorised that Spider-Man’s outfit might actually be a part of his body, rather than mere cloth or spandex or whatever, but she had never bought the theory, even after seeing him close-up during their rooftop fight. She could tell how uncomfortable the admission had made him, as if the fact disgusted him. _‘Of course.’_ She recalled the night they had watched _The Fly_ together and how horrified Peter had been by its body horror. _‘He must have been so confused, so freaked out. Not knowing what might happen to his body, how it might affect him...’_

A sense of curiosity made her finally reach out with her right hand and feel the material on his shoulder. It felt soft to the touch, and vaguely glossy. _‘This is… an alien suit? A living suit?’_ Her eyes wandered up and she noticed that Peter was now staring at her intently. She almost apologized and let go before she realized what the look in his eyes meant. She could feel his heartbeat through the suit as his chest rose and fell. For a long time there was no sound in the warehouse but for the pattering of the rainfall on the windows.

Finally, Peter slowly lifted his right hand, gentling grasping hers in it.

“I’m sorry, Felicia. I should have told you right from the start.” He shook his head. “I was too much of a coward. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, what?” She smiled, squeezed his hand firmly. “I kept my secret to myself until today, didn’t I? We’re more or less even here.” She felt gladdened to see him smile again. “And hey, I never thought I’d get the chance, but: thanks for the save against Iron Man. I really owe you for that.”

Something in Peter’s expression changed slightly, like he’d just seen something new in her for the first time ever. _‘Of course.’_ She had a fairly good idea of what he was going through herself. _‘I bet no-one’s ever talked to him as both Peter and Spider-Man at the same time before.’_

“Felicia,” he said slowly, his eyes still firmly on hers. “I want to tell you everything. From the very start.”

“Okay. Sure.” She nodded. “Let’s see if we can find a place to sit in this leaky dump.”

Felicia listened intently as her friend recounted the events of the last ten months, beginning with the trip to the Triskelion. They had found a couple of damp wooden boxes to sit on opposite each other, and she simply listened in silence as he spoke. Peter tried to keep his retelling relatively concise and factual, but she could still gleam a wealth of emotions from his account.

He told her about how he had acquired the suit and first experimented with it in the very warehouse she had used as a training ground, a coincidence Felicia only barely stopped herself from pointing out. He detailed Ben Parker’s death, the murderer’s death, and how he had formed a reason to honour his uncle’s words to assume responsibility for his powers. Then he briefly went over his time fighting crime on the streets until he began speaking of a man called Frederick Dukes, a mutant who’d died from his own powers. From the way Peter talked about the incident, she could tell that it had marked him severely – just like she could tell by the nervous movement of his right leg that his retelling of the Brooklyn Disaster still haunted him after all these months.

Felicia simply listened, and let him talk.

Peter recounted his early days in university alongside Mary Jane Watson and his new friends, which he pointed out as the time when it all started spiralling out of control. There was self-loathing in his voice and eyes every time he spoke of his relationship with Watson that confused her at first, until he explained that his greatest failure had been entering into a relationship with her before fully disclosing all the details about his powers. Felicia knew that he was being troubled by fear of what had happened to his own body, and this only became increasingly more evident as he skimmed over their encounter on the rooftop and got to the present day.

“I lost control,” he was explaining, his voice shaking slightly as he tried to recall all the details. “I lost that fight and I somehow lost control… or maybe I gave it over willingly. To that thing… that consciousness that lives in this suit. That lives in me.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, then stared at the floor intensely. “It has a will of its own, Felicia. I just never let it come out to the surface until tonight.”

She nodded. She wanted to comfort him, console him. To let him know that despite the shock from such bizarre and alien revelations, she didn’t suddenly feel abhorred by his presence as he clearly feared she might.

“There was… darkness. Voices. I was conscious, but not really. Like my subconscious was registering facts that my eyes couldn’t. I know that the suit took over and grew… stronger. It almost killed those people who came after me but I… somehow, I stopped it. Then I was running, fleeing. Looking for someplace… someplace safe where no one would find me.” Peter took a deep, rattling breath and looked into her eyes again. “And then you found me, Felicia. You found me.”

She smiled thinly. “Would you ever expect otherwise?”

“No. Never.”

 _‘Christ.’_ She shifted her weight on the damp box, certain that the gloom could hide her sudden blush.

In the silence that followed, Peter Parker looked like he had finally torn himself free of a weight that had been hounding him for months on end.

It was a pleasant silence, considering the circumstances.

“So,” he finally said, his voice softer now. “How about you?”

“Whuh?”

“How did you become New York’s greatest cat-themed burglar?”

His words brought a wan smile to her face. All their interactions as of late had been so damn serious that she’d missed just hearing him joke as he’d always used to.

“Nothing so spectacular as alien powers and epic fights with mutants.”

“Tell me,” he said, quickly adding, “If you want to, that is.”

“I do. I do, it’s just…” _‘It’s just that you risked your life every day to help strangers, while I just robbed rich people.’_ She looked down at her feet, took a deep breath.

If there was one person in the whole wide world she could tell this story to, he was sitting right before her.

“I already told you how I got my powers… power… whatever. It was during the meteorite’s crash. Most people these days agree that it activated a dormant gene that some of us carried… who knows.” She smiled wryly. “I guess we both got our powers from the same source, in a way. But totally differently.”

Peter smiled back, nodding.

“My dad…” _‘Here comes the real heroic part.’_ “He was a pretty big-time… well, burglar. In his days.” She clenched her jaw. “In the eighties? Anyway, after he found out just what my power was he… he groomed me. To be his successor, or something.”

She glanced into Peter’s eyes nervously, saw to her relief that the way he looked at her didn’t seem to have changed in the slighted. She could feel something in her chest lightening as she spoke to him, the first person she had ever talked about her past with other than the deadbeat has-been that was her dad.

“I thought it was… fun, at first. The training was nuts, but… I was glad just to be spending time with him. He’d spent so long just moping after mom’s death…” She suddenly remembered something. “I trained right here. Did you know?”

Peter blinked in surprise. “No.”

“Yeah, I picked this spot after we found it together. I clambered up those shelves there and did flips from one to the other. My dad taught me to fight on that container. He thought that training with the risk of injury made it more efficient.” She shrugged. “He had plenty saved up from his glory days to pay for the hospital. It didn’t matter how many times I got hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Felicia had seen the way Peter looked at her father on the few occasions the two of them had met, knew that he’d suspected that she was being beaten at home. She had always felt a warm gratefulness for his worrying and was glad to finally be able to clear away his suspicions.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I chose this life.” She shrugged, looked about. “But to think that you were training here too? Could you imagine if we’d run into each other? What-” _‘What might have been?’_

Peter smiled again, but remained quiet. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue.

After a brief moment, she looked back at him. “So I didn’t apply for college, got straight to work.” The recollection of having caved in to her father’s demands filled her with bitterness and regrets, as ever, but she tried to put up a brave front. “I started running around stealing things here and there from houses that looked easy. Mostly high rises that people never thought could be reached from outside.” She shrugged, then smiled at a memory that had just recently become a fond one. “It was going pretty well until, you know, I ran into you.”

Peter’s smiled widened. “You kicked my ass. You were amazing.”

“No, I really wasn’t…”

“You back flipped over me and almost kicked me off the edge! If that’s not amazing, then what the hell is?”

A mixture of guilt, embarrassment and gratification at his words caused her blush to return. “S-Sorry.”

“Don’t be, you couldn’t have known that was me.” There was a sudden glint in his eyes. “By the way, I never got to tell you: your outfit is really cute.”

“Cute!” She tried to pass off her reddened face as outrage. “It’s meant to be badass! Mysterious!”

“The cat ears on the hoodie in particular.”

Felicia shook her head in embarrassment. She’d thought to go with a comprehensive cat theme after picking out the name for her alter ego and had felt that the hoodie in particular would stick out nicely if any CCTV stills of her made it onto the papers.

“I- I needed a hoodie. To hide my hair colour. How many white-haired women do you see walking around town every day?”

Peter was the verge of making a remark, but seemed to think better of it. “I read that you left calling cards at the scene of the crime.”

“Just the first one.” She was glad to have moved past the discussion about her hoodie. “To make sure they didn’t give me a dumb name in the press.”

Peter nodded understandingly. “I know the feeling.” His hazel eyes sparkled. “I dig Black Cat. It’s a good name.”

“Thanks…” She leaned back on the box, feeling wracked by unfamiliar emotions.

“And then,” Peter said slowly, “we met a second time.”

“Yeah. What are the odds, huh?” She had a sudden thought as the words left her mouth. _‘Could those have been my powers again? No, that’d really be stretching it...’_

“I was kinda keeping an eye out for you. I wanted a rematch, I guess.” He suddenly looked at her apologetically. “Sorry about, you know. Webbing you up to the ground.”

“Like you said, you didn’t know who I was.” She leaned forward, closer to him. “Hell, you saved me from being taken in, let me escape from that nutjob.”

Peter nodded.

“Why?” The question had been nagging at her for some time now. “We were enemies. Why’d you help me out?”

“It didn’t seem right.” Their faces were close, and she could see his eyes wandering briefly to the cast on her arm. “Didn’t matter that you’d broken in to a flat or whatever… I couldn’t let him just take you away like that.”

She almost reached out to grab his hand but thought better of it in the last second and patted him on the knee instead.

“Thanks,” she said, torn between honesty and light-heartedness. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime, Felicia. Anytime.” He smiled at her, but couldn’t hide the sadness behind it. “I’m just sorry you got hurt like that.”

“I’ll heal. I always do.”

Peter nodded again, and a brief silence fell between them before he spoke up.

“How did you find me here? Today?”

“I got a call from your college.” She had wanted to bring up the fact that he’d made her one of his emergency contacts rather than Mary Jane or Harry, but decided to shelf the matter until another time. “They said you’d been kidnapped. Or had just disappeared.”

He bit his lip briefly. “It’d look like that to them, I guess.”

“Are you gonna let them know that you’re safe?”

“How could I?” Peter leaned back, and Felicia realized that he’d already given the matter a lot of thought. “How would it look? People break into my room and suddenly Spider-Man’s there, fighting them. Not to mention that these mercenaries or whatever know where I live… they know who I am. I can’t go back there.”

“At least tell Mary Jane. She must be tearing her hair out from worry right about now.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, smiling bitterly. “She broke up with me earlier today. With some luck, she’ll think…” He stopped suddenly, shook his head. “What am I saying? She’s a good person.”

Felicia tried hard to keep her emotions from showing, tried even harder not to feel anything that she might consider beneath herself. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, but… it’s okay. It’s for the best.” He shifted on the box to obscure the pain on his face.

Felicia nodded. She had been able to tell from his self-loathing while speaking of his relationship with Mary Jane that something was seriously amiss. The revelation of what had happened still came as a surprise to her, however.

She quickly tried to move the conversation onwards. “She’ll still be worried sick. And Harry… not to even mention May.”

“Aunt May is in Colorado until Sunday visiting relatives, and she doesn’t have a cell phone. I don’t think ESU or the police know where to reach her now, or at least won’t for a few days.” He shrugged. “As for MJ and Harry, and Scott… they’ll have to put up with it for a little while.”

“Why?”

There was suddenly something new in Peter’s eyes as they met hers directly; conviction, desperation and fear all swirled within their hazel depths.

“Those mercenaries work for the government, for SHIELD. They know who I am. They all do.” He clenched his jaw tightly. “If that’s the case, I can never go back, Felicia. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

She hadn’t realized how precarious his situation was until he said those words. She finally ignored all her prior reservations and gripped his hand tightly, not sure what she could say to allay his fears.

There was far more than just fear in his voice as he continued to talk.

“I can’t know for sure, but… there might be a chance. A chance that they’d want something from me, that it’s not just the government trying to bring me in no matter the cost.”

“Something from you? Like what?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but… you said they didn’t mention anything about me being Spider-Man on the phone, right?”

“Right…”

“Then,” he said, seeming to be grasping out for a lifeline, “if tomorrow they haven’t put out a search for me, haven’t made my identity public on the news, then… then that would mean they want something from me.”

“Peter…”

“I know it sounds thin, Felicia. Crazy and self-centred.” He smirked and squeezed her hand before letting go of it. “But I won’t give up on that hope until it’s been completely wiped off the slate.”

 _‘I know that feeling all too well.’_ She nodded, glanced about. “Where will you stay until tomorrow?”

“I was thinking here…”

“Here?!” She looked at him incredulously. “In an abandoned warehouse with broken windows? What are you now, Rat-Man?”

“It’s just one night….”

“Now you _are_ sounding crazy, Peter. So what if tomorrow they don’t make any announcements? They might also not let you know whatever it is they want from you right away. That could take another day, or two, or three…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Or were you just thinking of storming SHIELD headquarters as soon as the morning news ran their course?”

“No!” Although there was embarrassment in his voice, Peter smiled bemusedly. “I… I don’t know. I’m kind of winging it here, Felicia...”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“It’s not like I can go to Aunt May’s house; it’s sure to be crawling with cops until this is all over.” He was silent for a moment. “If you lend me some money I could get a room in a motel. Though I might need some new clothes, first…”

Felicia’s mind was fully made up as she raised a hand to interrupt him, smiling broadly.

“I think you’ve seen too many detective flicks. Or not enough. I have a better idea.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Shoot.”

“I have a place where you can stay. Not my apartment,” she quickly added before he could say anything. “Not with my dad there. No, there’s a place here in Queens, a safe house.”

“A safe house?”

“Come on, you know what that is.”

“I do, it’s just…” He smiled. “I’d never pictured Spider-Man waiting out the heat in a safe house, is all.”

“Well, you know how it is.” She patted him on the shoulder and stood up with some effort. “Looks like it’s time for Spider-Man to start branching out a little.”

Felicia stepped out of the cab and looked up at her apartment apprehensively, the rain by now having been reduced to a light drizzle. Though it was already well past midnight she could still see a light on in the living room. She bit her lip. _‘Damn. I’d hoped he’d be asleep by now. Guess we’re doing this the hard way.’_ Glancing back over her shoulder at the cab to make sure that it was indeed waiting for her, she crossed the street and rifled through her shorts’ pockets for her keys.

Stepping into the dark and mouldy corridor, she was suddenly struck by how much she hated living in that flat. Her father had thought that it was part of his ‘smart’ strategy, that flaunting money by moving up in the world was a sure way of eventually getting caught and should thus be avoided. She only had to recall their old house near the bay to know what a load of crap that explanation had been.

_‘I think I’ve always hated this fucking place.’_

Unlocking the front door she stepped inside tentatively and almost immediately saw her father asleep on his chair while some old talk show was droning on from the television. There were a good deal more empty beer cans discarded around the chair than before, victims and perpetrators both of his sad state. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she shut the door and went over to her bedroom. She hated the fact that there was not just trepidation, but actual fear in the idea of him suddenly waking up. She hated that he had made her like this.

Locking her bedroom door behind her, she immediately picked up the large satchel bag laying at the foot of her bed and dumped it atop the mattress. After trying to visualize roughly how much she could fit into it, she set about collecting all the clothes and accessories she might need for an extended stay away from home. She was careful not to overdo it, knowing that she could only carry so much with her one good arm, and so prioritized the most important items in her possession. With some considerable effort, she then pushed one end of her bed aside to allow her access to the wall, careful to make as little noise as possible in the process.

Kneeling painfully between the bed and the plain white wall, Felicia pulled out her wallet and withdrew the small, foldable screwdriver she carried around in it. Wincing from the pain in her legs, she jammed it into a spot between the hidden plastic panel and the identically-coloured wall, grinding the screwdriver around in place until the former finally popped off. Without looking in, she reached a hand into hollow recess and withdrew from within it one of her main reasons for returning home that night.

She almost felt guilty as she looked down at the bundled wads of cash that constituted her share of her own criminal activities over the past ten or so months. It had always felt unfair to her that she should receive less of the income from her enterprises than her father did when she had been the one to do all the work. He’d insisted that it was because he had to pawn off all the goods and knew all the contacts, not to mention the fact that he had taught her all she now knew. She wasn’t sure exactly how much it was – maybe somewhere in the range of thirty thousand – but all that mattered for now was that it more than sufficed for what she had in mind.

Once the money had been stashed away she felt around a corner of the hiding spot until she felt the cold metallic touch of the key taped to its surface. Pulling it out, she inspected the small object. The small key was for the safe house she had mentioned to Peter earlier, though it meant so much more to her than just that. She had made the preliminary arrangements for the place behind her father’s back and had been paying it off in instalments ever since until just a few weeks ago. _‘This is the one thing related to Black Cat that he knows nothing about, has no stake in. The only thing that’s really mine.’_ She knew that she could have simply taken one of the keys to the other safe houses from her father’s room, but if he’d noticed that it was missing he could have barged in to find Peter there at any moment. Pocketing the key, she looked about for anything else to throw into the bag.

By the time she was finally finished, Felicia was hefting up a heavy bag containing mostly clothing, money, and electronics. _‘Pretty much a whole life here. Should definitely be enough for a few weeks, more if need be.’_ Covering up the hiding spot again and returning the bed to its rightful position, she took one last glance around and turned the lights off.

As she carefully made her way out of her room with the bag in tow, she briefly considered picking up some toiletries from the bathroom, but remembered how damn creaky that door was and opted to simply buy new ones in the morning. She headed directly towards the front entrance, certain that the coast was clear; that certainty only made her feel all the more startled when she saw her father standing by the kitchen, almost swaying in place as he leaned against the sink counter, a large glass cup full of liquor in one hand.

“And now where are you off to?” His voice was almost a slur as he called out to her.

 _‘Jesus.’_ “Out.” Even though she had assured him with defiance that they would have a lengthy chat, she felt like there was nothing in the world she would less rather do. “I’ll be away for some time. I don’t know for how long.”

Walter Hardy closed his eyes and shook his head, pursing his lips together. “Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Felicia waited. Part of her wanted to just ignore him and get out, but he was too unpredictable when he got like this for her to just turn her back on him.

“It’s like nothing that I taught you stuck. Nothing!” He suddenly raised his voice with the last word. “All I’ve ever taught you has been to protect us, Felicia!”

“Yeah, dad,” she sneered. She wasn’t sure where the sudden flare of anger within her was coming from. “Crime totally pays when you just hoard the loot in your hovel of a home, doesn’t it?”

“You’re a child, you don’t know a damn thing!” He approached her on unsteady feet. “You never understood a damn thing about this life, about what it means.”

“No, I think I have a pretty good idea!” The bag was starting to seriously weigh on her bruised arm. “I’m not such a child as you’d like to think. I owe that much to you.”

“Oh, really?” He seemed to ignore her last barb. “Then how do you explain this? Walking out into the night a day, a _day_ after making the news? Huh?”

“Come what may, I’m taking action. I’m actually taking control of my life. I won’t sit here all day like a coward, drinking away memories of-”

“Enough!” With a roar, her father suddenly shattered the glass in his hand against the floor, making her jolt nervously. “Enough backtalk!”

She looked down at the scattered shards for a moment, her lips trembling slightly, before she turned her glare directly onto him.

“No. I’m the one who’s had enough. Enough of you, of fearing you.” She hefted the bag and stepped towards the door.

Her father made as if to bar her way, but suddenly swore and fell back onto the floor. He was hissing and holding the bleeding foot that had stepped squarely on one of the shards. She looked down at him; he had never before looked so bedraggled, so pathetic in his entire life.

Even in his pained and drunken stupor he glared up at her suspiciously, breathing roughly through his nose to manage the pain, like an angry bull.

“You used your power on me!”

“I don’t have to. You’re a walking catastrophe even without bad luck.”

Her hand was shaking slightly as she reached for the door handle.

“Felicia, if you walk out that door, you’re dead to me,” Walter Hardy said, blood now pooling under his foot. “I won’t protect someone without any common sense or loyalty. You won’t be welcome in this home again.”

She shot him a baleful look and opened the door. A sudden recollection of all the times she had pictured this moment washed over her, but she wanted to keep it as curt as possible. Peter was waiting for her back at the warehouse. Something new was now before her, something hopeful.

“You’d better keep this, then,” she said, withdrawing her key to the apartment and tossing it on the alcohol-stained floor.

It only took a simple motion to step outside and shut the door behind her. But she knew the enormity of it, the significance.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for this moment until it finally transpired and she once again found herself in the dark, mouldy corridor of the apartment complex.

It had been a bit harder than she’d thought it would. But not by much.

Making her way down the stairs and out into the night, she left it all behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

Natasha held her head high as she approached the entrance to the Medical Wing. She tightened her grip on the small, signed document she held in her hand as the two Marines guarding the door moved to bar her path.

“Ma’am,” one of the men spoke up. “This is a restricted area.”

“My team is in there, soldier,” she said, adopting a nondescript American accent to put him at ease. “Literally my entire team.”

“That being so…”

Sighing, she took the document and presented it to the soldier. He took it from her and seemed to take an inordinately long time reading its contents. _‘Maybe he’s trying to make out Stark’s little dinner invitation under the signature.’_ She glanced at the other Marine and smiled pleasantly, only receiving an embarrassed glance in response.

“Well,” the first guard said, handing the letter back to her, “everything here seems to be in order. Here.” He reached into a large pouch on his right trouser leg and pulled out a blue card in a plastic cover clip-on. “Please attach this somewhere visible on your shirt and follow me. I ask that you do not stray from my company until we reach the Medical Station.”

“Is that all?” She raised an eyebrow, gritting her teeth as she took the card.

“Yes, ma’am. This way, please.”

They briskly made their way down a clean, nondescript passageway lined with locked rooms. While she curiously read the nameplates by the doors as she passed them, they were all written in short abbreviations that made little sense to outsiders. None of the doors had any glass windows on them that might betray what was hidden inside. _‘My, my, does SHIELD enjoy its secrets. I’d bet even the janitor’s closet enjoys this level of privacy.’_

After being lead to the Medical Station the guard stopped by the entrance and she was allowed inside on her own. The room looked similar to any of the countless other hospital rooms she had seen before, to the extent that it was barely distinguishable from them with its white sheets and doctors in lab coats scurrying to and fro. _‘These places are always the same, after all. The only thing that ever changes is how much death pervades the air.’_

Luckily, no one in her team seemed to be in critical condition. They were all lumped together on the same row on the right side of the room; Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if that had been arranged so that the two Marines stationed by the infirmary’s far wall could better keep an eye on them. _‘Wouldn’t want all these injured foreign mercenaries to stage an armed uprising in SHIELD HQ, would we now?’_

Aleksei lay closest to the entrance, both his arms in casts as he snored away loudly. She had feared that he might have lost one or both of his limbs, but it seemed like he might make a full recovery once he finally awoke from the countless painkillers and tranquilizers they had pumped into his system. Next to him was Montana – most likely by his own request. He too seemed to be dozing as he slowly received a blood transfusion by IV, his cowboy hat placed on his lap by someone. Bandages completely covered up the wide area of his shoulder where the mutant creature had bitten deeply all the way to the bone.

The other two wounded members of the Enforcers were awake and watched her as she approached. At the end of the row was Sable, her head wrapped in a bandage. Dan sat in a chair by her bed, and they briefly interrupted their conversation to both shoot her a nod. Natasha nodded back and headed towards the second-to-last bed in the row.

Sergei looked like he had definitely seen better days, with bandages wrapped all around his head down to his eyebrows and even more covering up his entire chest and stomach areas. His right arm was in a cast, and every other spot on his body that wasn’t wrapped in smaller bandages revealed a flurry of multi-coloured bruises.

He smiled wanly as she pulled up a chair. “How do I look?”

“More or less like you tried to get into a fistfight with a tank.”

He tried to nod, but winced sharply. “Yup. That’s about how it feels.”

“Don’t move.” She sat down and shook her head. “The faster you recover, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Looks like we got the big hunt were wishing for.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like you said then. I would’ve preferred not to be the hunted in that one.”

“When you finally meet your match you don’t usually get a chance to think back on it.” There was an odd look in his eyes as he looked at her. “I get to think about it all the time now… every time I close my eyes I can see that mouth closing in around me.”

She touched his shoulder carefully. “It’s over now. It’s done.”

“That’s for damn sure. Though I’m afraid we’ll be going home empty-handed this time.”

She glanced about surreptitiously to ascertain that the Marines were far from earshot and that there were no doctors nearby before she winked at him. “Not quite, chief.”

Sergei blinked and lowered his voice. “Your side job?”

Natasha nodded.

“Your snooping will cause an international incident one of these days, my dear.” He looked about as well before giving her a small nod. “So? Is he here?”

She nodded again. “Visual confirmation.”

“I won’t even ask how,” he said, sounding both troubled and relieved by her comment. “But thank you. This’ll make up for all the costs. Sometimes, I think we’re in the wrong line of business.”

“You can’t hang information from trophy racks,” she pointed out.

He smiled sadly. “I think, Natasha, that I’d like to take a little break from hunting. Maybe SHIELD will be hiring new security again after we hand in our little side job, hmm?”

Feeling someone approaching, she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Tony Stark entering the infirmary, his flawless black suit sticking out like a sore thumb amidst all the doctors who ran over to welcome him.

“Well,” she said, not taking her eyes off the approaching billionaire, “you’ll have a chance to ask him yourself in just a second.”

Stark smiled and raised his hands after passing Aleksei and Montana’s sickbeds. “Please, please,” he said, looking at them each in turn. “Nobody get up! This is an informal debriefing. No need for etiquette here, friends.”

Sergei swore softly in Russian and pressed a button by the side of his bed to raise his upper body up, wincing from the pain. Natasha turned in her chair and ignored the charismatic smile that their employer shot at her.

“I’m glad to see you hale and healthy as always, Ms. Romanoff,” he said, stopping at the foot of Sergei’s bed. “It would’ve been a shame for any scars to mar that singular beauty of yours.”

She raised her eyebrows and simply nodded quietly, pursing her lips.

“And you, Mr. Kravinoff! I can see that you got the lion’s share of the clash with our spidery friend yesterday.”

“I’m afraid this is no joking matter, Stark.” Sergei’s voice was almost back to its regular, strong timbre, though Natasha could tell that he was making a great effort to sound that way. “Two of my men are severely injured. People could have died out there.”

“Believe me, I’m not here to joke. I actually rushed here from my penthouse as soon as I’d heard you were awake to try find out just what the hell happened on that campus.”

“Natasha already sent you our report. She acted in my capacity as team leader.”

“Of course, I read it on the ride here. Brilliant stuff. But, you know…” He shrugged his shoulder exaggeratedly while turning his palms up. “When I wake up to a cover-up bill of a few dozen millions in bribes and repairs I usually like to get the news right from the source, just as soon as it wakes up from minor brain trauma.” He placed his hands on the railing at the end of Sergei’s bed and looked at him expectantly. “Give me everything after you sent me that hot lead on the burglary.”

The team leader glanced at his second in command and, sighing, began his recounting.

“After your… encounter with Spider-Man, we tracked him back to ESU and past all his attempts at shaking off pursuers. We confirmed our suspicion that he was a student there.”

“Shocking. Good thing you kept your little mutant hunt there on the hush hush.”

“We kept it ‘hush hush’, sir, precisely because we expected that the target was at that campus, so as not to scare him away.” He seemed to think to himself for a moment. “For the record, Mr. Stark, I regret taking on your ‘bonus’ mutant hunt. My team is not a band of covert thugs. You can do your own dirty work henceforth.”

“Noted, noted,” he said, discarding the comment. “So, ESU?”

Sergei looked like he might have tackled the man to the ground if he had not been restrained to the bed.

“After some observation we identified the target him as Peter Parker.” Sergei’s cheek seemed to twitch slightly as he uttered the name, but he pressed on. “We waited and observed him for a day, then struck soon after classes ended and he was back in his room.”

“Alright,” Stark clasped his hands together in seeming anticipation as he continued to lean on the railing. “Now, for the night’s events.”

Sergei hesitated for a long moment before he finally began speaking.

“We engaged Parker in his bedroom, then chased him outside onto the university square. The fight was… within our parameters. As were his capabilities.”

“Could you go into detail on that?” For just the briefest of moments, the billionaire had seemed to speak in a serious tone. “Would you say his… capabilities were equal to yours?”

The injured man seemed taken aback by the abrupt serious question. He pondered it for a long time, seeming to have given it some considerable thought himself.

“I feel like he most certainly could have taken on any one of us in single combat, including me. He was hit by three tranquilizer darts over the course of the engagement and kept fighting on. I don’t believe we could have subdued him without subterfuge and sheer numbers.”

“Huh. I myself thought he was kind of a push-over.”

Sergei closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment before he spoke up again.

“We reported the mission a success and dragged him away from the campus after clearing up all evidence of our involvement. We then awaited extraction at the designated spot. That was when Parker… changed.”

Again, a serious look of interest on Stark’s face. “Changed? That’s the word you used in the report. I still don’t get it.”

“Changed, as in…” Sergei shook his head slowly as he failed to find the right words. “It might have been a mutant power, but he suddenly showed strong signs of activity and disappeared into the lot. When we again saw him, he was… different.”

“He had taken on significant biomass,” Natasha chipped in, seeing that the recollection was unnerving her leader. “Parker, when we spotted him again, was perhaps just under three metres in height. His appearance had also been altered significantly. The suit turned a bright red…” She thought back for a moment. “It might not even have been his suit, since it resembled musculature. His… its face didn’t look human. It looked like…” She shook her head, unable to find a good comparison. “It was elongated, like a horse’s. Inhuman, moving like an animal.”

“Like an animal,” Sergei nodded, and she noticed small beads of sweat on his neck. “But its jaw had human teeth.”

Stark, who had been leaning on one elbow with a hand ponderously over his mouth, looked sceptically from one mercenary to the other in turn.

“You have no footage of this?”

“No,” Natasha said. “In fact, we didn’t even come close to having the right equipment for this operation.”

“You stated in your report that it was strong enough to lift a car?”

“Yes,” Sergei confirmed. “It could withstand shock, heat, small-arms fire and large-calibre rounds like they were nothing. Also, no reaction whatsoever to edged weapons.”

“You tried to _stab_ it?”

“We had precious few options left,” Sergei grated dully.

“And it snapped that man’s arms by pulling on them?” Stark pointed a thumb towards where Aleksei was recuperating.

“Yes. And bit right through an electric prod.”

Stark tapped the bed railing with his fingers rhythmically for a moment.

“So, in short: Peter Parker transformed from a college student into a mindless flesh-eating monster over the course of a few seconds and almost single-handedly wiped out your entire team?” He held up his hands and frowned. “This is… difficult to believe, Kravinoff. Even if we’re talking about a mutant.”

Natasha thought for sure that the glib remark would be the one to finally set Sergei off, but the man seemed to have completely ignored it as he merely shook his head.

“Not mindless. And I don’t think Parker fully transformed into that thing. I… I think he was still in there, somewhere.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The beast seemed to recognize a move I’d used against Parker before and countered it. That’s never happened to me before. As for the rest… it’s just a feeling. A gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?”

“Yes. I can’t help but feel like Parker somehow mastered himself in the end… that that was why we were spared.”

Tony Stark nodded. “Lovely. And then, to wrap things up nicely, the Parker-thing got away. Escaped into the night.”

Sergei nodded.

“That’s disappointing, to say the least, when we were so close to catching him. Do you think you could pick up his track again?”

The team leader’s eyes widened at his words. “Pick up his track?”

“Yes. We’ve already checked his family home, but no dice. He’s gone completely off the radar.”

“I don’t think you understood the tone of my report, so I’ll make this clear.” Sergei glared at his employer. “The Enforcers hereby annul their contract on Spider-Man.”

Stark blinked. “Annul?”

“We have that right.”

“You do… in exchange for taking over mission costs and renouncing your reward.”

“I’ll take my chances with you before I send my team out against that thing again.”

“Well, well.” The billionaire didn’t seem so much distressed as amused by the sudden change. “Is it just me, or has the great hunter Sergei Kravinoff finally met his match?”

“There is no shame in acknowledging such, Stark.”

“Maybe not in Russia, Sergei.” Tony Stark sighed and stood up, straightening his jacket as he did. Then, after a long sidewise glance at Natasha, he turned back towards the team leader wearing a smile that utterly contrasted the conversation that they had just been having. “Very well, I accept your decision. What’s more, I’ll do you one better: mission and medical costs on the house.”

Sergei frowned. “Why?”

“Such suspicions, Sergei.” The Director of SHIELD turned a hand towards Natasha. “I do it merely because I briefly got to enjoy the company of the beautiful Ms. Romanoff, even though she has scorned my every advance since the first day we met.”

Sergei glanced at Natasha, who was attempting her best at forming a perfectly neutral smile that wouldn’t betray her disdain, then turned his eyes back towards the billionaire.

“We appreciate the gesture, Mr. Stark,” he said diplomatically after some time.

“You’re welcome. When are you planning on leaving?”

“As soon as we’re able.”

“Unfortunately, the matter of you staying here might be a bit muddled if you’re no longer working for SHIELD. But I can organize a medevac to a private within… a few days.”

Sergei nodded thankfully.

“Just… one more question about Peter Parker.”

“Yes?”

Tony Stark turned to face him fully.

“When you were following Parker’s movements after identifying him, did he visit anyone other than his girlfriend or the Osborn kid? Any leads we could follow up on in our search?”

The team leader glanced at Natasha for a brief moment, looking directly into her eyes, before turning back towards his former employer with a shake of his head.

“No. He remained on campus all day until we moved in.”

“Damn.” Stark shook his head. “I guess we’re starting from square one again.” He heaved a sigh and checked his watch. “Well, Mr. Kravinoff, Ms. Romanoff, and the rest of your team. I regret that things ended the way they did, but progress is still progress. What’s more, your mutant-hunting days are now over, at least for now.” He gave them a small bow. “I’d shake your hand if it weren’t broken. I hope to see you back in America soon, you and your Enforcers.”

Sergei smiled weakly. “I wouldn’t count on it, Mr. Stark.”

The billionaire smiled and turned his back on them, making his way towards the exit.

Natasha waited until the door had been shut behind him, then for several seconds longer, before finally leaning in towards Sergei to whisper.

“Why didn’t you tell him about Felicia Hardy?”

“Because enough is enough, Natasha. Enough pain, enough suffering.” Sergei closed his eyes and, from the look on his face, seemed to be somewhat at peace for the first time since the previous night. “Peter Parker deserves a shot at life. It’s time for us to go home.”

The morning following Peter’s reunion with Felicia constituted such a vast whirlwind of emotions that he was practically counting down the minutes until midday.

Having awoken in the small safe house’s single sofa bed to the sight of Felicia sleeping peacefully right in front of him had triggered such an unexpected turmoil in his chest that all thoughts of going back to sleep had quickly been tossed out the window, regardless of the particularly early hour. He had confirmed that the extra pillows they’d placed as a precautionary barrier between them still stood, but found it to be insufficient consolation for a return to sleep as he became overly conscious of her soft, rhythmic breathing.

The safe house was not so much a house as it was a bathroom, a living room with an open kitchen and a bedroom devoid of a bed, so Peter could do little else but remain in place as the minutes ticked by and light began to stream in through the closed blinds. Regardless, he never even had so much as a thought to complain about the lodgings; compared with the dark and cold derelict warehouse in which he had been prepared to stay the night, this was sheer luxury. _‘Not to mention that this is, in essence, Felicia’s place.’_

She had told him about her encounter with her father once they’d made it into the building; about how she had cut ties with him and that he had no idea this small flat even existed on the opposite end of Queens. Peter had consoled her then, but could tell from her eyes that there was more excitement than nervousness or sadness in how she felt about the upcoming days; she had enthusiastically expressed a desire to start over again, free of the constraints she had suffered from under her father. He had felt happy to hear her thoughts, and had buried the question of whether or not she intended to continue a lifestyle of burglary.

 _‘I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.’_ The thought had recurred within his mind throughout the night as he’d thought on all that Felicia had done for him at a time when he had been at his absolute lowest. That she had gone out to look for him without hesitation after hearing of his disappearance had genuinely astonished him, almost as much as the fact that she had actually found him. The idea that she was now sheltering him in her own home right after leaving the place she had lived in for over a decade amazed him no less.

_‘To have a friend like this in the world is nothing short of a miracle.’_

He recalled his regular musings on the divide between Spider-Man and Peter Parker, and how the reoccurring thought had been the lack of a constant factor between the two worlds; living a social life at university while keeping his alter ego a secret, but having no one to rely on once he’d suited up. In the end, the truth had been right under his nose all along, just as it always had been: Felicia Hardy was the one constant factor in his life. Come what may, she had proven that she would stand by his side whether he stood as Peter Parker or Spider-Man.

It was with this realization that Peter finally understood how to truly maintain his grip on the symbiote and stop himself from ever handing over control to it again.

_‘I felt torn between worlds because of my own cowardice, my own blindness. That was what allowed the thing in the suit to grow so large, because being either Peter Parker or Spider-Man left a vacuum that I never knew how to fill. It took me this long to understand that there had never truly been a vacuum there at all.’_

Peter felt the bandage on his thigh under the sheets, the wound beneath it almost fully healed. That night, up until the moment he’d been found by Felicia, was largely a confused blur but he could still remember enough of it to recall the monstrosity within which he’d found himself. _‘This suit is much more than I could have ever imagined. To think I ran around using it when I still know so very little about it.’_ He pressed a palm to his chest over his t-shirt, knowing that the symbiote slept somewhere deep within. _‘But I know more now than before. I know that I have to be strong, no matter what, to maintain control over this thing. I will never let it run rampant ever again.’_

He had been surprised to hear Felicia suggest that they both share the sofa bed after having heard his vague account of the suit’s rampage. He had insisted that he was prepared to sleep on the floor, but she had persisted and reminded him of all the times they had dozed off on a couch together while watching some over-the-top action movie or other. In the end, he had realised the true reason for her insistence and agreed. _‘She thought I might disappear again, suddenly vanish on a quest to clear my name. I guess her search for me frayed her nerves a lot more than I’d suspected.’_

With the first light of dawn he watched her white hair, which partially covered her face, almost glimmer in the sunlight. _‘Just like when I visited her room.’_ He was taken aback by the realization that that had only been just over a day ago. He recalled how she’d begun to show signs that something between them might have changed forever. The electricity when their fingers had touched, the blush in her face that she had tried to hide. Later, at the warehouse, he had witnessed intensity in her blue-eyed gaze unlike any he’d seen before. _‘There’s no denying the change. Not in her… nor in me.’_

He had first noticed it the previous day when he’d sat by her in her bedroom, but he’d pushed it aside then in hesitation and confusion. It hadn’t been until he’d woken from his hellish nightmare to see her kneeling by him in the derelict building that Peter had finally acknowledged the feelings in his heart. Despite the guilt he’d felt in light of how things had ended with MJ, despite the trepidation and uncertainty of accepting such feelings towards his best friend, he had then and there simply known that they existed. Merely to have seen her again after she’d returned from her father’s house had put his mind at ease in a way he’d never experienced before, and there was simply nothing he could do about that.

The fact that he suspected her to feel likewise only increased the intensity of his emotions.

Everything had seemed the same as ever before when they’d gotten to the safe house and had gone about making it habitable together. They still talked the same way, still laughed at the same dumb jokes and made the same ridiculous expressions. There had been moments, however, – when their faces had come far too close while setting up the bed, or when they’d held on to each other after almost tripping on the myriad items littering the floor – where they had been forced to realize that things between them would never be the same again.

Peter felt somewhat ill at ease at having such emotions a mere day after his relationship with MJ had ended, but he could remember that their time together in general had always felt somewhat off even at the best of times due to its shaky foundations. This felt completely different, just as his friendship with Felicia had felt utterly distinct to any other one he had ever felt. _‘Get a grip, Peter Parker. All I can do now is put these issues on the backburner until I’ve resolved this SHIELD dilemma.’_

The alarm clock on Felicia’s phone finally went off at eight, and she slowly awoke to the chiptune rendition of the Back to the Future theme. Peter quickly got off the sofa bed in order to both turn the alarm off and give her some privacy and space during the process of waking up. With a press of a button he ended the jingle and put the cell phone back down on the small coffee table, glancing back just in time to see Felicia leaning up in bed and blinking away the sleep, her hair a dishevelled mess.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting down on the one chair in the living room. “Sleep well?”

She squinted at him for a moment before smiling lazily.

“Honestly? Best sleep I’ve had in years. This sofa bed is probably better than my old one.”

Peter was astonished that, despite his internal monologue about leaving aside his feelings for her until later, his heart could skip a beat just at the sight of her smiling like that.

As Felicia arched her back in a languid stretch and leant over the edge of the bed to pick up her laptop, Peter had trouble recalling why he had seriously thought that he could put much of anything on the backburner while sharing a flat the size of Aunt May’s living room.

“You ready?” Felicia called out to him, opening her laptop’s lid. She had found a slip of paper on the kitchen counter the previous night containing the Wi-Fi password to a café located by the entrance to their complex.

He nodded, steeling himself. _‘The moment of truth.’_ “Go ahead.”

Felicia typed away quickly on the keyboard with her one good hand, the sound of the keystrokes echoing across the small room.

Peter held his breath, trying his best to read her expression.

After a moment, she heaved a sigh of relief and looked up at him with another smile.

“I think you’re in the clear, at least for now. Nothing new about ‘Spider-Man’ or ‘ESU’ other than there having been a break-in and a fight on campus. They don’t even mention you by name. I didn’t want to Google ‘Peter Parker’, but if a name hasn’t shown up alongside the other searches…”

Peter felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders upon hearing her words.

“Thank God,” he sighed, leaning back on the chair.

“We should check again in an hour,” Felicia said, closing her laptop’s lid, “but for now, it looks like your secret’s safe.”

“Honestly, I was kind of expecting the worse.” His heartbeat still racing somewhat from the anticipation, but he was feeling calmer by the second. “I actually think I used to have nightmares about my true identity being revealed on the Daily Bugle.”

“Nah,” she smiled, “if someone’s gonna break the story on Spider-Man’s identity it’ll be Quentin Beck. You’ll see.”

“Damn,” he laughed, “you’re right. The truth always comes to light in Mysterio, even if it means picking names from a hat at random.”

“The truth is out there!”

After the tense morning hours had been defused by their joking about they again took turns showering before Felicia stepped out to a nearby local store to buy some food and essentials. Peter kept himself busy by closing the sofa bed and doing his best to tidy up the living room. He’d opted to move Felicia’s satchel bag to a corner of the room, and as he leaned over it he caught sight of the familiar cat hoodie. _‘Guess despite cutting ties with her dad she’s still set on hanging on to the whole Black Cat persona.’_

Felicia had made clear her decision to henceforth live on her own and make her own fortune, and had suspected that she did not exactly have a working life in mind. The idea that she might continue her career in high-risk theft, however, didn’t make him think any less of her in the slightest. _‘Would I have preferred it if she had given up such a dangerous profession? Sure, for her sake as much as anyone else’s, and I’ll give my opinion whenever it’s asked. But if she brought this stuff along after leaving so much else behind, then it really must mean something to her. She can make her own choices in life.’_ He pondered the issue in silence for a moment longer. _‘As for Spider-Man… ah, fuck it. There’s no way to phrase this nicely, I’ll be turning a blind eye to her. Sorry, Uncle Ben. This is a special case.’_

Peter had been looking out the blinds at the busy streets below the safe house when Felicia returned to the flat carrying a heavy-looking bag full of wares.

“Wow, hey,” he said, rushing over to her side. “Here, let me take that.”

“My, how chivalrous,” she grinned, shutting the door.

“Oh, shut up.” He took the heavy bag over to the open kitchen on the opposite end of the living room. “It’s the least I can do. Thanks, Felicia.”

“For what? The groceries?” She slung her coat messily onto the vacant chair and slumped down on the sofa. “You know I can’t go more than a day without appeasing my sweet tooth before all hell breaks loose.”

“No,” he looked at her over the shopping bag, ignoring her quip. “Not just that. I mean for this, for everything. For all you’ve done for me.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

“Shut up!” She grinned and leaned over the side of the sofa to pick up her laptop. “If you did forget about all this, I’d be more worried about your memory than your gratitude.”

Peter couldn’t help smiling abashedly. “Guess you have a point there.”

Felicia cleared her throat. “Pass me a Doctor Pepper?”

Rifling through the bag, Peter withdrew the six-pack of plastic bottles from beneath all the other groceries.

“Bless your heart,” he said, tearing out two bottles. “I’d started to think you only ever drank beer these days.”

Felicia blinked and smiled wryly. “Only on days when I confess my secret identity to my oldest friend.” She took the bottle he offered her and made room on the sofa. “Didn’t you take a liking to booze in college?”

“No,” he admitted. “I mean, I drank to make conversation at parties. But the conversations were never really any good. Nor was the beer.” He shrugged.

“You never got totally fucking wasted?”

“Pfft, as if.”

“So wasted you were doing the Russian dance on the table while swinging your shirt about?” She was grinning fiendishly again. “And then going out on a drunken Spider-Man binge, crashing into every second office window?”

“Now that you mention it…” He glanced up at the ceiling. “But I mean… drunken Spider-Man binges are every Thursday, so they all sort of blur together...”

“You must’ve been the scourge of pigeons all over the city, come to think of it.”

“Oho,” he took a gulp of the soft drink. “Remind me to tell you about pigeons one day. My dear, have I got stories for you.”

Felicia almost spat out her drink as she was suddenly shaken by a burst of laughter. “ _You_ have stories? I’ve had so many problems with the little fuckers, I bet they’ve got stories about _me_.”

“Pigeons don’t usually get along well with cats.” After having a sudden thought, he turned to look right at her. “Mind telling about all that? Being Black Cat?”

The question seemed to surprise her, but she threw him a snarky look after a moment.

“Should I be telling my sworn foe about my secret profession?”

“You can ask whatever you want about Spider-Man.”

“Deal,” she said instantly. “What do you wanna know?”

Peter had some trouble deciding what he wanted to ask her first from the countless questions he’d been harbouring.

“What’s it like? Stealing into some rich person’s house?”

“Easy if your info’s good. Scary as hell if it’s not.” She shrugged. “I only ever hit targets that are off on holiday. You know, pretty standard burglar fare. But if you really want to be on the safe side you have to keep track of their family, friends, cleaning staff… the whole works. Sometimes you just can’t, and have to go in half-blind.”

“Must be scary. Not knowing if you might get busted all of a sudden.”

“I was too good for that.” She took a swig of her soda. “Plus, I always set up tons of escapes before even going in. I sure as hell never intended to get caught.”

“I caught you. That second time.”

Felicia seemed to freeze for a moment with her drink in her hand, before she smiled impishly. “Maybe I let you catch me.”

“Yeah, I bet!” He grinned. “Come on, I went through a lot of preparation for that trap.”

“Who knows? Maybe Iron Man interrupted us before I could break free and whoop your ass.”

“Oh, sure...”

“Shush! Question for you!” The memory of the rooftop incidents seemed to have sparked something within her. “This I’ve been wondering about since the night I fell into your cowardly traps-”

“Hey-”

“What’s up with all the talking?” She had an unshakeable smile stuck to her lips. “You were such a chatterbox during our first epic duel, and in the second one you kept quiet until I couldn’t move. Then you wouldn’t shut up! What was that, are you always that talkative with random crooks and thugs?”

“I-” Peter blushed as he searched for the right words; he’d never had to explain his crime-fighting behaviour to anyone before. “Well, it helps me relax. Talking lets me get a grip on my nerves when I’m going after dudes with knifes and guns…”

“Oh, what?” Her eyes almost sparkled. “You were afraid of me? Poor Spider-Man, so scared of the bad Black Cat...”

“What? No, that’s-” His sense of embarrassment was only deepening. _‘What did you expect? Swinging around in a skin-tight outfit is only cool until you start talking about it seriously._ “Well, what about you? You didn’t even say a word both times!”

“Because I, my dear Spider-Man,” she pointed a hand exaggeratedly at her puffed-out chest, “am a professional. And pros don’t run their mouths whenever they run into someone in a cat outfit to soothe their frightened nerves.”

“Okay, okay,” he swirled the bottle to check if there was anything left in it. _‘God, how I’ve missed this.’_ “Laugh it up. I’m pretty sure most thugs legit fear me, smack-talk notwithstanding. Maybe even because of the smack-talk.”

Felicia shrugged. “It’s a neat contrast. I bet we’d make a great duo…” Her eyes changed somewhat as she spoke, like she’d intended to keep the thought to herself.

Peter looked at her for a moment and smiled. “Yeah. We really would.”

For the first time in a while, Felicia seemed lost for words. Just as she opened her mouth to speak she was startled by her phone’s alarm, which she had set for ten in the morning. She finished her drink, put the bottle down by the side of the couch and unlocked her laptop.

Her eyes went to Peter’s. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” His spirits were so high that he felt a surprising lack of fear. “Let’s do it.”

As Felicia began checking all the same news sites she had opened right after waking up, Peter leaned in closer to get a better look.

“Nothing.” She smiled in satisfaction. “You’re still clear.”

“If they haven’t broken the news about my true identity by now, then they’re pretty unlikely to do so at all.” Despite his prior confidence, he knew that his relief was palpable.

“What now?”

Peter thought for a moment. _‘Now I’d like nothing more than to act, to get out there. But that would probably only make things worse. I’m definitely at a disadvantage here.’_

“SHIELD holds all the cards,” he said. “All I can really do is wait for them to make their move, whatever it may be.”

“And what if they don’t do anything? What if they’re waiting for you to act?”

“In that case,” he said slowly, not wanting to entertain the thought much, “I’ll have to go to them blind and confront them. But I can’t live my life without knowing if the government’s going to fall upon me at a moment’s notice.”

Felicia nodded resolutely. “You can stay here. For however long you wish.”

“Felicia…” He hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure? I don’t know what might happen from here. The whole country could be out to get me.”

His best friend never broke her blue-eyed gaze. There wasn’t even a hint of doubt or regret in her expression as she touched his arm.

“Peter, I’d stay by your side even if the whole world were out to get you.”

The hours seemed to pass at a more reasonable speed after that first morning. They had re-watched some episodes of 24 that Felicia had forgotten to delete off her laptop’s drive before simply reminiscing about high school for almost a whole hour. At midday they had again checked the news and once again confirmed that his name had not appeared on any headlines whatsoever. Afterwards, they simply sat on the sofa in silence for a moment and thought about how they could idle away the days without ever leaving the safe house.

Peter had been the one to propose making their new home more habitable. He had not wanted to send her out alone with a shopping list while her arm was still injured, so they had limited themselves to cleaning up the house, which still bore marks everywhere of its complete vacancy. Felicia had found a wardrobe in the empty bedroom, which she filled out with all the clothes she’d brought along from home, while Peter had discovered a large rug rolled up in a corner of the living room, brand-new and still in its packaging. After some careful measurements, they had spent most of the afternoon moving the sofa bed so as to lay out the rug under it. There hadn’t been much left to do for the rest of the day, so they had idled away the evening hours watching people fall off skateboards on YouTube.

The next day, Felicia had tripped on the new rug with a surprised yelp after finishing her shower. Peter, checking the news on the couch, had hurriedly caught her and softened her fall as they’d toppled in a tangled heap onto the white, fluffy carpet. Having felt its softness for the first time since setting it up, Felicia had suggested that they simply lie there for a bit. Peter had agreed almost immediately.

They’d lain there side by side for a long time, their bare arms warmly touching as they’d gazed up at the undecorated ceiling in silence.

After what had seemed like hours, Felicia had sat up first. He’d only seen the faint blush on her cheeks after she’d turned towards him to say the words that would stay on his mind for the rest of the day:

“We should probably address this once things are back to normal.”

Peter had likewise felt blood rushing to his cheeks as he’d nodded. There had been no further need to speak of the matter, at least not for that afternoon. He’d known exactly what she had been talking about; as they spent hours upon hours together, whether it be speaking, joking around or merely watching some video or other, they were confronted by the reality of the situation far too regularly to be able to deny it. He had come to finally accept his feelings, and as the day wore on he even came to look forward to the moment they could directly confront what lay between them; that nondescript thing that had been limited until now to sideways glances when one thought the other wasn’t looking, or brief touches that left them red-faced and laughing to defuse the situation.

On the third night since moving into the safe house, Felicia suggested foregoing the pillow barrier due to the discomfort it caused their knees. Peter had seen the sense in her words and assented.

They both woke up around the same time, deep into the night, to find themselves tangled up in an embrace and looking into each other’s eyes from up close.

Neither of them had seemed to particularly mind, nor had they tried to break away.

On the third morning since they’d retreated into the safe house, SHIELD finally made its move.


	11. Chapter 11

It had seemed like a normal morning despite the brief, awkward moment after the alarm had woken them in the same intimate closeness they had settled into during the night. They had both acted like all was perfectly normal as they’d parted and stretched their way out of the bed, but Peter could tell by the relative speed with which Felicia went to take her morning shower that she wanted to mull things over. He himself had his mind full as he closed the sofa bed and neatly folded the sheets and pillows into a corner of the empty bedroom.

The mood in the safe house was practically back to normal as they enjoyed their breakfast of raw microwave waffles with milk while lazily browsing the morning news, just as they’d done the previous morning. Peter had been raising his glass to his mouth when a sudden yank at his t-shirt’s sleeve almost made him spill its contents all over himself.

“Peter,” Felicia said, her voice almost a whisper. “Look.”

A deep sense of foreboding warned him of what was to come before he even looked down at the monitor upon the face of the man he had so come to hate. Even that foreboding, however, could not prepare him for his surprise upon recognizing the young man standing beside him.

Next to the imposing and authoritative Tony Stark in his ever-present black suit, Harry Osborn looked scraggly at best; his skin was pale and his curly red hair seemed unkempt as he nervously glanced at the camera. The billionaire’s right hand was placed around his shoulder in a protective gesture.

“-these cowardly tactics,” Stark was saying as Felicia unmuted the live interview being hosted on the news site. “Norman Osborn was for many years a leading pillar in this city’s vast community, building it up after the disaster eleven years ago. It is shameful that merely a year after his untimely death thieves and pilferers dare go after his wealth. In the wake of the disappearance of a ESU student with close ties to the Osborn family and the threats received this morning in this young man’s household I have elected, as leader of our nation’s greatest security force, to place Norman Osborn under SHIELD’s direct protection.”

“Son of a bitch,” Peter whispered.

“Harry Osborn will accompany me today to SHIELD HQ on Governor’s Island,” Stark continued emphatically, looking directly into the camera with an odd intensity. “By this evening, he will be moved to a secret location until the perpetrators are caught which, I can assure you, will be within a day or two at best. I reveal all this with confidence – if anyone wants to get to Osborn, they’ll have to get through me first. Should they opt to do so – I promise you a fair fight and a sound thrashing from Iron Man himself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” the female reporter standing by his side said, sounding startled by the public challenge. “We’re all more at ease in the knowledge-”

Peter reached for the mousepad and stopped the video. He had heard enough.

“That’s their play, then,” he said. A swirl of conflicting emotions was coursing through him; the anger and eagerness to confront the matter was constantly challenged by the hesitation to step away from safety and directly into SHIELD’s spotlight once more. “Stark’s using Harry to draw me out because of how close we used to be in high school.”

“Do you think Harry’s in danger?”

“I don’t know… but I don’t like the part about him being taken to an undisclosed location. Sounds an awful lot like they’re taking him hostage if I don’t show up.”

“He’s trying to force you to go to him today, before they move him.” Felicia was biting her lip, her good hand tapping nervously against her laptop. “This screams of foul play, Peter.”

“We were expecting something like this. He must’ve realized that, since he went out of his way to promise a fair fight.”

“Exactly why it sounds so much like a trap.”

“I know. Can you play back the whole video? As unpleasant as it is…”

The entire interview was not much longer than the segment they had witnessed, other than showing some panning shots of the uptown high-rise in which Harry lived and an abundance of squad cars parked by its entrance. _‘At least they never mention me by name. Stark really is keeping a lid on Spider-Man’s true identity.’_

He turned to Felicia after a long moment. “What do you think?”

“Like I said,” she replied, her voice full of worry, “definitely a trap. He’s waiting for you on Governor’s Island, which sounds like the perfect place to surround you. How would you even get there in the first place? They’ve probably got sci-fi levels of security around the place – in the water, in the air, not to mention soldiers.”

He nodded. “Agreed.”

“But you still plan to go?”

Noticing the nervous tapping of her foot, Peter pressed a hand to her arm assuredly.

“I don’t think I have a choice. I don’t think Harry’s in danger of suddenly disappearing… but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Besides,” he smiled, trying to look as confident as possible. “This could be it; a chance to face Stark directly and put to rest the matter of my name going public. This is what we’ve been hoping for.”

“Yeah, that… or you get sedated by twenty snipers the moment you set foot there.” She exhaled a long, nervous sigh. “Sorry. Sorry, Peter.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s just- I’m scared for you.”

“Yeah, well,” he squeezed her arm and kept up his smile, “how do you think I feel? I’m starting to wonder why Stark went through this whole cat-and-mouse game instead of just spray-painting ‘FIGHT ME SPIDER-MAN’ on top of SHIELD headquarters.”

Felicia finally smiled lightly at that, but the look in her eyes was sad, almost desperate.

“Peter, if this is a trap…” She hesitated for a long moment, then finally gathered her courage. “You could find ways to let May and your friends know you’re okay, and instead of just getting caught…” Again the hesitation, again the resolve. “I don’t want you to go out onto that island for nothing. You could stay here...”

“I’d… I’d like that, Felicia.” He met her surprised gaze and held it firmly. “I really would. That’s why I have to do this. I want to spend as much time with you as I can.” He felt his chest tightening as he spoke. “I want us to be able to go outside together. To go freely wherever we want. And I want us to have that talk – the one that’s long overdue.”

Several strands of white hair had fallen over Felicia’s blue eyes as she quietly took in his words. Their faces were close as they sat side by side; close enough that it would only take the slightest motion, the slightest wavering in his resolve to finally cross the distance between them.

_‘You were right, Uncle Ben. Just like always. How could it have taken me so damn long to realize it?’_

When Felicia shifted in her spot after a long moment and brought her good hand up behind his head, Peter briefly thought with a fluttering in his stomach that she was going to do that which he restraining himself from doing.

Instead, she merely tapped her forehead to his for a long moment. A strange sense of calm tempered the nervousness that had been rising within him since watching the video until she finally let go, now seemingly recovered and back to her usual self.

“Alright, Peter. That’s a promise.”

He smiled, nodding. “It’s a promise.”

“Come back here as soon as you wrap up your business on that island. We’ll open a bottle of Doctor Pepper together.”

He grinned. It took a surprising amount of effort, but he managed to stand upright. His stomach was still nervously aflutter, though now it was in light of what was to come. “He won’t even know what hit him.”

Felicia managed a weak smile. “Go then, you crazy bastard. Show those fuckers what’s what.”

Peter nodded and quickly turned towards the entrance to go get his shoes, knowing that if he didn’t leave soon he might not find the courage to do so later. He was already dressed in his jeans and t-shirt, which he deigned to be enough for the trip to the nearest rooftop; there would be no more hiding from SHIELD from this point on.

He was already at the door and thinking of what more he could say before stepping out, when Felicia pre-empted him.

“Hey,” she called out, making him look back. “Make sure you kick Stark’s ass a little extra for me, okay?”

Peter grinned, sensing the warm burst of confidence within his chest.

“You can count on it.”

Peter had never known how much he could miss the feel of the wind buffeting against his body, all the myriad city smells notwithstanding, until he had experienced it again after spending so long on the ground. Even the occasional close calls with bewildered flocks of pigeons almost seemed nostalgic, a nigh-everyday experience which had suddenly ceased overnight.

_‘Stark, you motherfucker. I’m adding this to my long list of reasons for making your beating a particularly judicious one.’_

Far below, bystanders were pointing up and scrambling for their phones or cameras with far greater frequency than they used to. _‘I’m still ‘Spider-Man, Daytime Crimefighter, Night-time Criminal’ as far as they know, thanks to that Iron Man footage. I must look brazen as all hell, swinging around during the day.’_ Realizing that a fair number of those same bystanders might have the good civil sense to call the police, Peter decided to limit his visibility as much as possible until he reached the docksides. Propelling himself onto the nearest flat rooftop, he ran across its surface and leaped from its edge to the adjacent building. _‘This’ll get exhausting soon, but I’ve seen how quickly the police can round up helicopters and scores of squad cars when they really put their hearts into it.’_ He made a firm mental note to find a way to repair his public image as soon as he possibly could, so as to no longer need to slink his way through the city.

Alternating between using his webs for maximum speed and dashing across rooftops to lose any pursuers, Peter quickly made his way westwards from Queens into Brooklyn. He could occasionally see his destination whenever he attained enough height during one of his swings; a sight that filled him with nothing but bad memories. _‘I really hoped I’d never have to come back here again.’_

The Columbia Street Waterfront District was the closest point in Brooklyn to Governor’s Island when heading out of Queens. It was also the location where, due to the aforementioned proximity, the US military had made a stand against the Brooklyn Abomination. Peter had suffered for weeks after the ordeal from nightmares of the massacres that had ensued in the berserk mutant’s wake; thoughts of his desperate attempts to ends its rampage still occasionally shook him to the core. _‘There’s still so much about that day that just doesn’t add up. SHIELD claims that the monster was a researcher on the island, some guy called Bruce Banner, who’d lost control of his mutations. I don’t buy it. That whole incident turned the public everywhere completely against mutants, got everyone on-board about the Xavier Institute making attendance to its facilities mandatory. It all just seemed too clean.’_ He had never wanted to entertain the notion that SHIELD had orchestrated the whole affair to get a tight grip on the mutant issue, but recent events had certainly shaken the faith he used to have in government institutions.

Swinging onto a building just past the expressway, Peter surveyed the waterfront and felt surprised by the amount of activity on it in contrast to his last visit. The city administration and SHIELD had pumped considerable funds into rebuilding the dockside and streets that had been damaged by the Abomination over the past ten months, even taking the opportunity to modernise them where they could, though Peter doubted this was of much consolation to the countless friends and loved ones who had lost someone in the rampage. _‘I still don’t feel like that memorial down the road was enough to reflect all that happened here that day.’_

Most of the activity down by the water seemed to be regular civilian fare, as opposed to the heavy military presence he had witnessed on his last visit. _‘This is about as close as I can get with webs, then. That just leaves SHIELD headquarters.’_ He looked towards the distant island, its repaired and expanded structures now gleaming faintly in the bright sun. _‘The lion’s den, Mordor, you name it. God knows what’s expecting me there, but that’s just something I’ll have to deal with as I get to it. One step at a time.’_ He scanned the waterfront for small craft, but couldn’t see any that looked inconspicuous enough to commandeer. _‘I’ll need to come up with something. Just taking a boat there would’ve been too simple, so of course that’s not gonna fly. If nothing else works, I could always try swimming? I should be able to make it with my stamina, but the problem – wait.’_

Peter silenced his brainstorming to listen intently to an approaching sound. After a few seconds it had become far louder, and he confidently guessed what it was as he looked around.

He spotted the source after just a second, coming in from the direction he had been staring at before.

_‘A helicopter, inbound from Governor’s Island. Who would’ve thought.’_

It was a relatively large one of military issue, a Blackhawk. Peter ducked low against the rooftop and observed as it reached the dockside within seconds before commencing a rapid descent towards a clear spot amidst all the crates and engineers. Dockworkers quickly set about transporting dozens of boxes onto its open hold, one after the other, like clockwork.

_‘This might be it. My ticket in. It’s way too convenient – maybe Stark set it up as my ride to the island – but I really don’t have any choice. Trap or not, I won’t be putting an end to this whole SHIELD debacle if I hang around here. I’ll just have to worry about how I get back later.’_

Gathering his courage, Peter carefully made his way from rooftop to rooftop until he was perched atop a warehouse that overlooked the water not too far from the landing spot. _‘If this helicopter does return to the island, I should be able to hitch back a ride on it.’_ He realized fully that the odds were good that people on the dockside would see him clearly enough on such a clear day, but he reasoned that he had little other choice in the matter.

After some time, the Blackhawk was fully loaded up and quickly began its ascent. Peter stood up, anxiously watching as it turned back towards the sea, and began moving away from the edge of the rooftop. _‘Okay, Peter. You get one shot at this. Don’t screw it up.’_

The helicopter dipped its nose and Peter turned, sprinting towards the edge and leaping off it with every last bit of strength he could muster. Once he’d judged the distance to be close enough, he reached out his right hand and fired a web at the vehicle’s underside. _‘Come on, come on, come on!’_

The web found its target and latched on, the helicopter’s rapid movement suddenly jolting Peter violently as he flew through the air. He let out an involuntary yell as he was pulled over the bay’s sparkling waves, the salty wind buffeting him harshly enough to cause him pain. _‘Fuuuuuck, this might have been dumb, dumb, so dumb. Ooooh fuck, oh damn. Please don’t let me falllll.’_ As he clung onto the rope of webbing for dear life, Peter was suddenly struck by the ominous thought that he had never before collided with a seagull for a change.

After some moments of finally overcoming the violent swaying of the web and the motion sickness that it was causing him, Peter gathered his wits enough to begin absorbing the web back into his suit so as to climb closer to the aircraft. _‘I need more balance, need to clear my mind and get rid of this nausea. If I drop onto SHIELD HQ like this I’m as good as dead on arrival.’_

His eyes kept darting cautiously towards the helicopter’s rear rotor, but he had attached his web close enough to the Blackhawk’s front that he could approach the main body well clear of the deadly blades. Once he’d gotten close enough, he faced the vehicle’s rear and carefully reached out a hand towards its belly, then another. Once he felt safely secured, he threw his feet up, his heart in his throat, until he had finally attached himself to the helicopter by all four limbs. _‘Okay. Okay. This is… not much better for my stomach at all. But at least I won’t be such an obvious target for anyone looking skywards.’_ As the long minutes rolled by, Peter silently cursed Tony Stark and SHIELD for making him pull such a ridiculous stunt. _‘This list of reasons for kicking your ass keeps growing and growing, Stark.’_

Although it caused him further nausea, Peter kept his gaze over his shoulder to watch as the Blackhawk finally entered the airspace above Governor’s Island. _‘Here I am. No turning back now.’_

Seen from closer up, SHIELD headquarters didn’t seem quite as large as he’d imagined it. There were really only three buildings set into a rough triangle, one of them vaguely resembling an observatory and far larger than the other two, though still not much bigger in size than an average two-storied shop. The two other buildings were of one storey each, and all seemed to be connected by paths and roads. Guard towers dotted the area and a large airfield housing several helicopters of varying sizes stood to the rear of the largest building. None of the historical buildings that had given the island its original name seemed to remain after the Ueno Impact.

Peter strained his eyes for any signs of where he should drop off the helicopter once it had lowered its altitude sufficiently. He couldn’t see any people walking around the area at first glance, soldiers or otherwise, but figured that he was still too high up to make an accurate assessment.

All of that planning flew out the window the moment a large figure, gleaming a bright red in the sunlight, stepped out the front entrance of the main building and made its way to the central area of the facility, the heart of the triangle between the three buildings. There was no possible mistaking the individual’s identity.

_‘He knew I was coming. So be it.’_

Tony Stark, his suit’s profile coming into more and more detail as the helicopter continued its descent, seemed to have no inclination whatsoever to attack Peter in mid-air. Rather, he simply appeared to be waiting for him to approach. _‘Looks like he wants so settle things right there, between all the buildings. That wouldn’t have been my first choice of location, but it’s not like I get much of a say in the matter.’_

Steadying his breathing to calm his nerves and free himself of the nausea still plaguing him, Peter carefully calculated the best trajectory down towards his waiting foe. After a few more seconds of descent he finally let go of the helicopter, descending in a free-fall towards the small airport some fifty metres below. Judging the distance to it and the length of web required, Peter fired towards the tip of one of the tallest guard towers just below him, hitting it with ease and tensing his body as the taut webbing began swinging him into a sideways arc. Even as he let go after a partial rotation and leapt through the air towards the three buildings his eyes were darting about, unsuccessfully looking for any signs of hidden soldiers or snipers. _‘Maybe he was telling the truth about a fair fight? Fat chance of that.’_

Landing heavily enough to kick up a light cloud of dust, Peter finally touched down on firm ground again some distance from the triangle’s centre. Still trying to regulate his breathing, he made his way towards the armoured man at a moderately slow pace, desperately trying to use every last second he could before the fight to eliminate his lingering nausea and catch his breath. He could feel his body tensing and his heart rate increasing in anticipation of the battle that was now perhaps a few minutes, if not a few seconds, away. _‘I hate this kind of wind-up the most. Suddenly being thrown into a fight is definitely no sort of improvement, but at least I’m spared this damned tension when that happens.’_

Peter had spent a long time on his way to the dockside thinking back on his previous fight with Iron Man. Although he had found the suit to be surprisingly slow and unwieldy in turning, he had witnessed first-hand just how strong it was: a strike against Felicia’s left forearm had broken it and sent her tumbling to the rooftop hard enough to cause cuts and bruises all across her body, not to mention almost breaking her ribs. He had then seen the suit tear his webbing apart just by flexing its armoured joints. _‘The damn thing is truly formidable. I was able to buy some time by hitting the helmet right on the visor, but that might not work a second time. I’m going to have to use my agility and speed to my advantage; just one direct hit from that armoured glove could mean the end of the fight for me.’_ He had not been able to come up with a satisfactorily definite way of actually winning the fight without the use of his webs. _‘Those engines on his palms and boots can burn right through my webbing. I’ll just have to look for a weakness as I go.’_

Finally, his eyes still suspiciously darting about the facility, Peter stepped into the triangle between the buildings. At this distance he could fully make out all the details on Stark’s suit, and he quickly noticed a few alterations. It was mostly small details, different angles and grooves across the armour from what he remembered of their previous encounter. Some areas, like the calves and wrists, seemed to have been made bulkier than before, as had the central plating over his chest. Something also seemed different about the thick, metallic fingers – they seemed to be ringed by thin lines across their length.

Coming to a halt, Peter held his ground at the absolute edge of what he considered talking distance. He wanted to have as much room as possible to react when Stark made his move, but had also realized that the centre of the triangle was utterly vacant of any tall buildings or objects he could use to swing around. _‘This is terrible, terrible ground for me to fight on. Even my best bets, like the guard tower I passed and the biggest building, are good for limited movement at best.’_ He would have to rely on his speed on the ground for this one.

After a brief moment of silence between the two of them, Stark took a single hulking step forwards, kicking up a significant amount of dust up to his knees as he raised the visor on his helmet to reveal his face. He looked relaxed, almost bored, amidst the layers of armoured plating.

“Pretty good landing,” the man’s voice rang out loudly. “Eight out of ten. You could definitely work on your distance a little, though.”

“Where’s Harry Osborn?” He tried to keep his voice firm and strong as he called out. “Is he safe?”

“That’s the first thing you say to me here? No ‘thank you for the helicopter ride’? It’s not cheap having those make supply runs every half an hour, you know.”

Peter kept his silence, his hands tightening into fists by his sides. The hot, clear day was making sweat break out across his whole body under the suit.

Stark held out his armoured hands as if awaiting a reply, but finally dropped them in resignation.

“Alright then, have it your way. Harry Osborn is safe. He’s here somewhere. Good enough for you?”

“Not really,” he answered. “What do you want from me? Why all this set-up to get me here?”

“Why do I want you here?” The billionaire raised his eyebrows as if amused by the question. “Why _would_ I want you here, Peter Parker?”

Peter glanced around again quickly at the mention of his name, but Stark promptly spoke up again.

“Now, now, don’t you worry. I said I would give you a fair fight, and I’m a man of my word.”

“You’ll have to pardon my scepticism,” he hissed.

“Why? Because I tried to stop your little mutant burglary a few days ago?”

“You know that’s not what happened!” He could feel the anger rising within him at the memory of Felicia’s injuries. “And you know why I expect to be shot in the back any moment by one of your snipers.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“Try the gang of thugs you sent to capture me in my bedroom at night.”

Stark pursed his lips and nodded lightly. “Okay, okay, good point. In my defence, though, those sinister six were a band of mercenaries. They have their own methods, you understand.”

“That hardly puts me at ease.”

Stark shrugged. “If you say so. They’re out of the picture now. Just you and me here right now. I’ve ordered all my men to stay indoors. You know, UV rays and all that.”

Peter felt exasperated by the man’s constant stream of dry japes. _‘Is this how criminals feel when I prattle on during fights?’_

“So why are you sending mercenaries after me? Why are you threatening to reveal my true identity? Why all these schemes?”

“Let me reiterate my question from before to answer that: why, Peter Parker, would I want you here?”

Peter took a deep breath. He had given that same query plenty of thought as he’d made his approach to Governor’s Island. Had Iron Man felt threatened by Spider-Man’s fame? Did SHIELD not like the fact that a mutant was moving freely through the city? Did Stark truly believe the story he had fabricated about him being a criminal?

In the end, there had only been one reason that had made logical sense of SHIELD’s sudden actions.

“The suit. You want me here because of the suit.”

Tony Stark cocked his head slightly, looking impressed.

“My, you _are_ a smart boy.”

“So that’s it?” Peter raised his arms wide. “You want it back? That’s why you sent military thugs out after me instead of giving me a freaking call?”

“Ah, but that’s where you err, young Peter Parker. Firstly, SHIELD would never be so forthcoming or straightforward. If we perceive that US state property has fallen into the wrong hands we snatch it the hell back, no questions asked. We have a pretty strict policy on witnesses when it comes to that meteorite, too, so that phone call would have been your last. Which is redundant, since that symbiote can’t be removed without killing you.”

Peter blinked. The sudden and off-handed revelation about the symbiote was partially offset by his confusion and surprise at Stark’s frivolous disclosures about SHIELD. The billionaire seemed to be enjoying his monologue as he took another heavy step towards him.

“Secondly,” he said with a strange smile, “who said I wanted the suit back?”

“What?” Peter shook his head. _‘Is this guy insane?’_ “Then why am I here?”

“Like you said, Parker. It’s your suit.” He patted an armoured fist against his chest, emitting a dull, metallic clang. “Mine is mechanical, yours is organic. In the end, we’re both men decked out in armour.” He grinned suddenly. “I wonder which one is stronger?”

Peter was almost lost for words.

“That’s it?” He shook his head. _‘This has to be one of his bad jokes.’_ “All of this, this chase across the city and the mercenaries and all that, just so that we can have a fight?”

“Why not? People have done more for less. And let me tell you,” he lifted a finger to point directly at him, “I know that there’s a whole lot more to that symbiote than you let on. _That_ will be the test of the ultimate suit of armour.”

“No.” Peter shook his head, clenching his jaw. “Sorry to disappoint you, Stark, but I’m never letting the suit take control again.”

Stark’s grin disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Then you’ll die. Know that I was going easy on you on that rooftop. If you don’t pull out every last trick in that magic symbiote hat of yours, I’m afraid you won’t even last a minute against me.”

Peter’s body tensed as he bent his knees slightly and readied his fists for combat.

“I guess we’ll see about that.”

The Director of SHIELD nodded quietly for a moment, then shrugged.

Without any warning whatsoever he suddenly propelled himself towards Peter at blinding speed, his visor shutting over his face as he moved.

Somehow, the warning system in Peter’s senses had given him the split-second forewarning that allowed him to just barely dodge the attack. The large, tire-sized tear in the ground where he’d stood and a veritable cloud of dirt in the air were the only remaining signs of the kinetic blast as Stark began to swing back around in a tight arc like a bird of prey.

 _‘Jesus!’_ Peter’s eyes were wide as he looked at the vast chunk of earth that had been torn right into the air. _‘He’s fast – faster than before. A direct hit like that could cut me right in half.’_ He gritted his teeth as his eyes followed the flying suit’s movements, noticing how much more flexibly it was now performing turns. _‘I’m going to have to re-think this from scratch.’_

As Iron Man began another dive towards him Peter raised his hands, hoping to fire off a web or two at the suit’s visor. It only took him a moment to realize that he would never be able to pull off such a precise shot at the speed the man was moving in, and he instead dodged to the side like before. This time, however, Stark seemed to have anticipated his reaction: instead of firing a kinetic blast at the ground where he’d stood, he fired sideways with both his palms just as he dashed past.

While the blast only grazed Peter, its power was enough to throw him off his feet completely like a heavy punch to the chest, sending him crashing into the ground metres away. Peter coughed as he tried to recover his breath and stand up amidst the dust, but he was still on his knees when every fibre in his body suddenly screamed out another dire warning. Without any time to even check the direction from which the attack would come, he simply made a desperate dive forwards and flattened himself against the ground. A powerful burst of energy resounded behind him, strongly enough to send vibrations through the earth, and a second later his body was lightly pelted with a rainfall of dirt and small stones.

 _‘Dammit!’_ Peter quickly stood up and located Stark’s whereabouts. _‘How am I supposed to beat him if I can just barely keep dodging his attacks? He’s too fast…’_ His eyes darted about the area, looking for anything that might even the playing field if even by just a bit until, finally, he found what he was looking for.

Stark had already began his fourth attack so Peter didn’t even wait before breaking into a sprint towards the main building. The armoured suit adjusted its course in mid-flight towards him, but Peter dove forward again with all the momentum he had built up, clearing the attack with relative ease. Once the building’s impeccable white walls were just a few metres before him, casting him in the structure’s shade, he turned around and watched as the billionaire began to simply hover in a stationary position above the triangular area.

“Using enemy housing as a shield, huh?” The metallic voice behind the visor sounded amused. “Now you’re taking a page right out of our rulebook.”

Peter was silent, desperately trying to figure out how he could further use the area to his advantage.

“That tactic won’t save you, you know.” Stark began to hover closer to the building, gaining an angle of approach that would let him fly down alongside rather than at it. “Still. Not too shabby to have made it this far. Not too shabby.”

After having observed his attacks for so long, Peter could just barely anticipate when Stark would initiate another dive. As soon as he noticed the tell-tale straightening of his back and the sudden rigidity in his gloves and boots, Peter knew that he had a second at best to enact his plan. He fired a web onto the building’s wall and took aim with his other hand at the ground by his feet.

The roar of Iron Man’s engines screamed through the air even as Peter frantically fired the second web at the ground and joined the two, then stood his ground for a split-second longer than his body was warning him to. When he finally did dodge to the side, Stark’s palm passed so close to his face that he could feel the intense heat of the kinetic force gathering for the shot. Just as it fired, the crimson-and-gold suit of armour suddenly jerked roughly, seeming to spiral out of control as the blast was fired.

The shot from Stark’s palm wasn’t a direct hit – if it had been, Peter suspected that his head might have been taken off wholesale. It did, however, graze him with such force and heat that he was knocked aside like a ragdoll. Pain ravaged the right half of his face and chest and he tumbled and rolled through the dirt, even as Tony Stark crashed into the ground adjacent to the main building with enough strength to make the earth rumble.

 _‘Get up.’_ He groaned and gritted his teeth, feeling blood streaming down from his temple to his jaw. _‘Get up, get up, get up! Now’s your chance!’_

Gathering all the strength he could muster in his battered body, Peter unsteadily got back up on his feet and ran towards Tony Stark’s crash site. He realized as he moved that he might have lost an eye if he hadn’t squeezed them both shut in the moment before impact – his suit around a large patch of his chest and his face from his right temple to his nose had wholesale disappeared to reveal cuts bleeding from the kinetic force. _‘Something about Stark’s engines completely repels the symbiote – is it the heat?’_ Clenching his jaw, he simply focused on his target, thankful that at least his right eyebrow and the hair now hanging out over his forehead hadn’t been singed off.

Stark looked like he’d taken their last clash almost as badly as Peter had. Dust and dirt now bedecked his once-pristine suit, which had impacted with the ground hard enough to leave a small crater. His right palm, the circular white orb in its centre now blinking on and off as if to warn of some error, seemed to have absorbed the brunt of his fall; he let it hang limply by his side, as if it hurt too much to lift.

The now-filthy visor turned towards Peter as he approached, its blue eyes gleaming even through the cloud of dust around them.

“Clever little fucker,” the electronic voice said. “Using the building’s shadow... sly little bastard.”

Stark suddenly tried to stand up and face him, but Peter quickly cleared the distance remaining between them to kick with all his strength at the man’s heel, aiming for the rectangular protrusion he had come to expect somehow provided power for the boot’s engines. Although he struck against plated armour and half-expected the result to be negligible at first, the rectangular protrusion bent inwards with surprising ease. _‘I hoped as much. Pure electronics and sensitive wiring, he couldn’t armour it as thickly.’_

The billionaire, realizing what had just happened, stood up fully to fire another kinetic blast at him with his undamaged glove, but Peter side-stepped it easily and backed away. Stark was silent for a long moment – perhaps running some sort of diagnostic on the damage. His defensive stance made it hard to get to his other heel, even despite all the damage he had already received. _‘Don’t get cocky, Peter. That bastard’s still as strong as ever, even if he shouldn’t be able to fly around like before anymore.’_

“Clever little fucker indeed,” the man repeated after a moment. “This fight is heating up even without you tapping into the symbiote. I’m impressed.”

“I couldn’t care less.” Peter risked quickly wiping the blood dribbling down his brow away from his eye.

“Oh, come now, Parker. Here, a gesture of goodwill.” The visor on the helmet lifted, revealing the face beneath, which had suffered a cut lip from the crash. “We finally meet eye to eye. Just the way it should be in a proper fight, right?” He spat a glob of saliva and blood at the ground.

_‘It’s a trick, he’s trying to tempt me. I have to wait for the right moment, when he’s not anticipating an attack.’_

“You look pretty beat up, Parker. Have a sit-down, take a rest.”

“Like you said,” Peter hissed, “this fight’s just heating up.”

“True, true. You know what would make it even better?” He flashed a bloody grin. “Pyrotechnics.”

As if on command, a series of deafening blasts suddenly sounded out across the facility behind Peter. Surprised, he glanced over his shoulder to see four explosions billowing fire and smoke towards the sky; two from the rooftops each of the smaller buildings and two from that of the central structure.

Confusion and uncertainty briefly took hold of Peter. _‘Harry!’_

He barely saw the incoming blow from the corner of his eye. The punch from the armoured glove sent him staggering back several steps, pain filling his left cheek as he fell to one knee.

Stark approached with thunderous steps, looking down at him coldly for a moment before his blue eyes were replaced by the fierce glow of the helmet’s lowered visor.

“This is a battlefield, Parker,” the metallic voice grunted. “You don’t get the benefit of losing your focus for even a second.”

“Are you crazy?!” Peter could hear the large flames crackling behind him as he took a step back, careful to avoid the pieces of debris that were still falling to the ground. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“Heating things up even more,” Stark replied, launching himself at him.

Peter watched him close the distance between them and easily dodged an uppercut from Stark’s undamaged hand, quickly stepping aside as he anticipated the kinetic blast that followed. The billionaire followed up with a straight jab from his other hand that almost caught him in the gut before he knocked the blow aside with a painful strike from his palm.

Smaller bits of debris were still raining down upon them as they moved closer towards the centre of the triangle, with Stark constantly pushing the offensive.

Peter knew that, while grounded and incapable of fully utilizing his kinetic blasts, the erratic man was still essentially a human tank that could dish out tremendous blows with little fear of reprisal.

Ducking under another punch, Peter struck at the man’s extended arm with a powerful strike. Dodging back from a sudden retaliatory kick, glanced at the shallow dent that he had left on the forearm’s armoured plating. _‘I feared as much. I’ll never break through his defences like this.’_ He opted to stay on the defensive while looking for an opening or advantage of some kind that could be exploited, though such thoughts were distracted by his worries about Harry’s well-being following the explosions.

_‘Stark’s mad, bona fide insane. Or at least that’s what he wants me to believe. This fight is too bizarre, inexorable – I can’t catch my breath.’_

SHIELD’s Director, on the other hand, seemed completely untiring as he relentlessly delivered attack after attack. _‘That suit must be pumping drugs into his system or something – he hasn’t slowed down at all since the crash. Dammit… it can’t be long now until soldiers start pouring out of those buildings to put out the fires…’_

Running out of options, Peter fired a web directly at the visor and confirmed his prior suspicions: whatever alterations Stark had made to the finger joints of his gauntlet had reinforced them in such a way that he could tear the webbing clean off the surface with no effort whatsoever, like it was just a regular spider web. _‘I feared as much. Immune to webs, immune to punches – how the hell do I bring this guy down?’_

Suddenly, in mid-strike, Stark unexpectedly changed the angle of his attack to approach from the left with his damaged gauntlet. As Peter caught it with relative ease he noticed a follow-up attack directed at his chest with an open palm. His free hand shot out and grabbed the gauntlet by the wrist, forcing the armoured glove upwards seconds before the kinetic blast dispersed harmlessly into the sky with a shrill boom.

Peter had finally spotted a possible opening, an angle from which he thought he could strike between the suit’s shoulder plates at the joints themselves, when he heard a sudden grating, metallic chuckle from under the helmet.

“Finally got you.”

Sudden, overwhelming pain coursed fiercely through Peter’s entire body as the gauntlet he had gripped suddenly emitted a strong current of electricity. Screaming, he let go of the armoured suit as his legs threatened to give way.

It only took Stark a split second to aim a powerful blow downwards and strike him hard enough across the head to knock him wholesale to the ground.

Peter groaned, dazed and still in pain as he felt blood welling in his mouth. His suit seemed to be reacting strangely in the aftermath of the electric shock – it almost felt like it was pulsating over his chest. _‘Fuck. Get up, gotta get up…’_

In two thunderous steps, Stark had positioned himself directly above Peter; the sheer size of his suit blocked out the sun as the visor’s icy-blue slits stared down at him.

“That’s that, then.” Dropping one knee firmly to the ground between his arm and his torso, the armoured man lowered himself towards Peter and pressed his functioning palm to his chest. “You’re finished… Parker.”

Instead of a kinetic blast ripping apart his chest, the crazed man began firing a long, uninterrupted surge of electricity through into Peter’s body, unleashing upon him an overwhelming agony that threatened to tear him into unconsciousness. The symbiote was now clearly reacting to the electric currents – it contracted fiercely all across his body, almost cutting off his breath as it seemed to try to escape the attack.

“Come on, Parker. Enough bravado!” A light was glowing off the electric contact and casting a faint blue hue over the battered crimson-and-gold breastplate. “This is it, your death. Seconds away. Cut the crap and bring out the monster! Let out the beast or die!”

Peter felt like his teeth might crack any second, so strongly was he clenching his jaw. He had never known, had never _imagined_ that agony on such a scale could exist. There was practically no oxygen left in his lungs between his screams of pain and the suit’s tightening grip. He knew that Stark was right, that he would be dead soon if the current didn’t stop.

_‘God, god. Felicia…’_

The spot under Stark’s hand was beginning to smell of burnt flesh…

A part of him anticipated it, wished for it to just be over. In its sheer terror and madness, that part of him reached deep within in a blind flight, seeking, searching for what it knew to lay at his core. Safety. Respite. Revenge.

The visor was now so close that Peter could almost see his own tortured reflection amidst its filthy surface.

If it emerged now it could bite the man’s head clean off-

“So be it, Parker.”

The pressure on his chest increased, an inexorable weight.

Would it be so bad? The pain would end, the fight would be won. All would be solved, all would be right.

_‘No.’_

He could control it. He could command it.

It would be easy.

_‘No!’_

Time seemed to freeze, a million thoughts streaming through his subconscious within a split second of pure pain. _‘It wouldn’t be control. It would be the exact opposite.’_

Madness on death’s threshold. He could almost hear it calling out to him from deep within. Its words were honest, pleading. Loving.

But they were venom.

It would be a betrayal. For himself, to himself. To everything he loved.

A threshold from which there was no return.

Amidst all the chaos, one sole, eternal constant…

Peter stared directly into the blue slits.

_‘I won’t die here.’_

The pain was everywhere, all at once. His body felt drained of all strength, but he still found it. Deep within.

Deeper than even the symbiote could ever reach.

He moved his lips numbly, struggling for air.

Stark leaned in closer. “What?”

_‘Work with me. Just this once. Through all our pain, all our differences – we can do this together.’_

The effort of simply twisting his hands, which had been lying uselessly by his sides, and raising them ever so slightly upwards felt more momentous, more titanic than even the greatest blows he’d received from the Brooklyn Abomination.

He tried his best to aim. It was a long shot.

_‘Work with me.’_

Somehow, despite having desperately been constricting against his skin in an animal reaction to the electricity, the suit pulled through and delivered.

Two webs – weaker and smaller than usual – shot forth from his wrists and found their mark.

Stark’s suit flinched oddly as the webbing largely enveloped the joints between the shoulder plates, like the intrusion had set off some sort of alarm system. The visor was turned to look at the source of the sudden damage and the pressure on Peter’s charred chest lessened slightly, ever so slightly as the electricity seemed to fizzle out and stop…

As if granted a second wind, he painful swung his right arm and unceremoniously knocked aside the armoured hand. Steadily feeling the mind-numbing pain beginning to retract and become and fiery echo, Peter kicked desperately with his legs and dove out from under Iron Man’s immense frame. He was still too weak to do much more than flop onto the dusty ground, but each second was helping him piece something together, some sort of riddle which was being fuelled by the new source of power he had found deep within.

The solution to the riddle could be nothing short of victory.

Stark raised himself to his full height and took a step towards him, but stopped upon finding that his mechanical arms suddenly seemed to be malfunctioning, locked in place like a jammed gyro. He was quiet for a long time, like he was trying to figure out exactly what the root of the problem was.

Peter wanted to simply lay on the floor and let exhaustion take him. He didn’t even want to move another muscle for the rest of the week; the mere memory of the electricity was almost as painful as the real thing.

_‘Get up.’_

Slowly, he pushed himself back onto his knees.

_‘Get up.’_

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man said, his metallic voice sounding distant and hazy, as if underwater. “The intel was right – just look at that stamina! You must be a huge hit with the ladies, Mr. Parker.”

When Peter finally stood, he could almost sense the clashes in his system between consciousness and unconsciousness, every blow threatening to knock him back down to the floor. He desperately wanted to throw up, but knew that it was impossible.

Looking down, he glanced at the spot near his sternum where charred flesh lay exposed to the summer air. The suit had even entirely withdrawn from a large radius around the wound, leaving a large open patch on his chest. Feeling the wind on his lips, Peter touched a numb finger to them and realized that his mouth and right cheek were also free of the suit. _‘Even the punch that knocked me to the ground must have been electrified.’_

“Well, fuck it.” After another long moment of silence, something suddenly rattled in Stark’s suit and large pieces of armour were dropped heavily to the floor from his shoulders, arms and hands. Beneath them was some sort of red-gold skin-tight fabric with countless cables and rivets running down the length of his heavy muscles. He tightened his hands into fists and flexed his shoulders. The blue slits rose to meet Peter’s stare. “I can finish the job just fine with sub-armour. Hell, look at you. I could probably finish you off in my underwear.”

Peter spat, trying to clear his mouth of the blood that had pooled in it, and the crimson liquid streamed out viscously. The ground was swaying, but he still managed to steady his breathing as oxygen slowly made its way back into his lungs and, with it, a modicum of strength.

_‘Come on, Peter Parker. You can’t die now. Get your shit together. Finish this.’_

Tony Stark seemed equally inclined to bring the fight to an end, running at him with fists upraised. Peter didn’t know a single thing about the aforementioned sub-armour; not how strong it was, nor if it had any more tricks up its sleeve. All he knew was that even a single unarmoured punch would probably be enough to knock him out in the condition he was in. He bent his knees and raised his hands. He could tell without even trying that the suit had reached its absolute limit and couldn’t so much as fire off a single web. It felt like an injured animal, curled up and whimpering.

_‘Come on. I know I’ve asked a lot from you already. But we’re in on this together.’_

Stark swung his fist with a roar and Peter dodged to the side, ducking beneath the blow as the man passed by him. He staggered and fell onto one knee, fighting for breath.

_‘I’m also at my limit. Got maybe one more attack left in me. The last one.’_

The billionaire turned heavily, his metallic and armoured body contrasting with his muscular arms. For the first time since the fight began, he was breathing heavily beneath the helmet.

_‘It’s just you and me now. Not that thing that we became, but us – Spider-Man.’_

Stark spun on his feet and charged again, right fist prepared for an uppercut while he held his left hand out with an open palm.

_‘Come on. We can do it.’_

Peter stood back up and raised his right hand, the one he knew had a chance in hell at success. He titled his head slightly and took aim through blurry vision and failing muscles.

The world was reduced to a single moment…

It was a beautiful stream of webbing, just the right length. It caught Stark’s fist and, with a short sideways jerk from his wrist, Peter connected it to the man’s other, outstretched hand like an organic lasso.

Stark stopped in his tracks, grunting and struggling with the webs like a madman trying to break out of a straitjacket. Sub-armour, it seemed, wasn’t quite up to the task of breaking apart the symbiote’s essence like it was paper.

Peter took a few steps forward and drew back his right hand, tightened it into a fist. He recalled the promise he’d made just before stepping out the apartment’s threshold.

_‘This is for Felicia, you goateed son of a bitch.’_

When Peter brought his fist down against the side of Stark’s helmet he did so not just with every last ounce of strength left in his body, but with such wild abandon and intensity that he knew the usual subconscious restraints on his strength would dissipate to magnify the power of the blow. He simply struck more ferociously than he had ever dreamed he would, because everything hinged on it, on this one second in time.

The angle had been good, the speed sufficient. Even as he felt every single bone shatter and break up the length of his fingers and to the back of his hand, Peter watched the golden visor tear off the helmet wholesale, hinges snapping like plastic as it fell to the ground. Even as the new and mind-shearing pain thundered up his arm he pushed against the suit’s breastplate with his other palm.

There was a look of utter astonishment on Stark’s face as he toppled backwards to the ground with Peter practically on top of him.

Letting his broken and useless right hand droop heavily by his side, he brought his other hand up to Stark’s neck.

There was a moment of silence as Peter fought to form words without passing out.

“It’s over,” he whispered, flecks of blood spattering on the red breastplate.

The Director of SHIELD continued to gaze quietly at him for some time, his wide eyes only narrowing after he delivered a brief nod.

“You win, Peter Parker.”

 _‘Win what?’_ The battle had taken everything, every last fibre of strength, right out of Peter’s body. His eyes briefly shot up towards the main building in front of them – despite the smoking fires raging on its rooftop, not a single soul had stepped outside to put out the fires.

“Yours is the triumph,” the defeated man below him said.

“Triumph?” Peter was so beat-up that he actually wondered if he’d misheard him.

“I’m a man of my word. No one interfered, and no one will.” He smiled thinly. “The perks of being the boss, you could say.”

 _‘How can he smile at a time like this?’_ “Harry…”

“Harry Osborn was taken by helicopter back home the moment you got here. He should be enjoying his lunch right around now.”

Peter blinked. He hadn’t wanted to believe it before and wanted to believe it even less now, but the truth seemed inescapable: this really had all just been one big set-up for a showdown.

His hand twitched; he desperately wanted to throttle the man.

“After this little bout of ours, I doubt I’ll be Director of SHIELD for much longer.” Stark’s voice was even, like he was informing a co-worker of some mundane fact. “But I assure you that all information pertaining to your secret identity will be purged today. I’ll also give your college and the police an adequate excuse for your disappearance – I think a kidnapping is as good an excuse as any. Just tell them you don’t remember anything after being knocked out.”

Peter raised his head, shaking it slowly.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re free, Mr. Parker. Free of me, free of SHIELD. You’ve won the battle and are now claiming your rewards.” He nodded with some difficulty off to his left, away from the triangle they had fought in. “There’s a little boat over that way, behind that forest. It’s fuelled, keys in the ignition and all. No one will stop you leaving. You can dock at the waterfront where you hitched a ride before – it’ll be empty. I’d recommend a hospital after that. Maybe call someone. There’s spare clothes and change in the boat. Oh, and don’t worry about docking.” He smiled genuinely. “It has a tracker. Someone will pick it up.”

Peter raised his upper body, carefully removing the hand from Stark’s throat. Confusion was now running rampant amidst all the pain and exhaustion. The man was suddenly being so candid, so easy-going and sincere. Nothing in his manner indicated that he was telling anything but the truth, and even despite all his misgivings Peter felt oddly inclined to believe him.

It really seemed like Tony Stark had just wanted to fight him, and now that that was done he had no further business with him. No vindictiveness, no hidden agenda. Just a bizarre smile and a ride home. Peter had had an easier time understanding a mindless monster like the Brooklyn Abomination.

_‘Madman. Psychotic madman.’_

When coming to the island, Peter had had no idea of how he could get SHIELD to leave him alone to live his life in peace. He had thought that maybe they would try to recruit him, or force him to give up the symbiote. He would have been ready to accept a wide range of conditions if it meant that he could return to a life of relative normality.

It had never occurred to him that it might all simply hinge on winning a fight against Iron Man.

Using his left hand to support the right, Peter slowly stood up and took a shuffling step away from the billionaire. Stark grunted and sat up on the ground, his blue eyes still following him.

“It was an honour, Spider-Man,” the man declared.

Peter turned and limped away from the triangle, towards the shade of the trees.

He found the boat just where he’d been told he would, right past the treeline leading up to the shore. It was a small motorboat, bobbing on the waves a little ways into the water and kept in place by a rope attached to a metal post that been placed by the artificial beach.

_‘Unbe-fucking-lievable.’_

Peter made his way to the shore and, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped into the water. It was cool to the touch and soothed the pain in his feet. As he waded deeper into the bay to reach the boat he submerged himself up to his waist. He felt stings of pain whenever drops of the salty water hit the burn on his sternum, though they barely even registered as such in comparison to the constant echo of agony still coursing within it.

After some significant effort, Peter managed to drag himself onto the motorboat in a heap. He winced in pain as his broken hand brushed against the side and he let himself drop onto the deck on his back. He took a deep breath and simply looked up towards the sky while holding his shattered limb over his chest.

It was still a beautiful day, with almost nary a cloud in sight as seagulls circled and cried out from overhead. The air smelled of sea salt, for once clear of the varying smells one found in the city. As the waves lapped against and rocked the boat, Peter thought that he could easily doze off right then and there to sleep for entire days.

The thought of Felicia, waiting to hear back from him, finally got him to stand back up and dissipate the suit, leaving him in just his boxers.

Looking around the vessel, he located all the miscellanea Stark had mentioned before; a container bearing a loose-fitting pair of pants and t-shirt, a small pouch holding a handful of quarters, and the key to the motorboat secured firmly in the ignition.

Peter sat on the ship’s side and grimaced.

 _‘If Stark really wanted to act out The Running Man in real life, he could at least have left me a ridiculously-oversized check on this boat. It wouldn’t have seemed out of place at all for the crazy bastard.’_ The mere thought of the man brought back unpleasant memories of the harrowing battle he had just been through and its surreal resolution.

Biting his lip, Peter stood up and walked over to the small circular swivel-chair placed in front of the wheel. He took a moment to analyse all the controls, never having piloted a boat in his life before. _‘Come on, Peter. This would be a remarkably dumb way to go out today. Unless, of course, he planted a bomb on this thing…’_

Igniting the engine and practicing alternating his one good hand between the wheel and the gears, Peter sat down on the chair and glanced back over his shoulder at Governor’s Island.

_‘Time to get the fuck out of this madhouse.’_

Felicia was almost unnerved as she confirmed that the waterfront was indeed completely empty, just as Peter had said on the phone. The cab driver had refused to drive in nonetheless, so she made her way down past the rows of crates and smaller containers alone. Her eyes darted about attentively, not so much looking out for danger as searching for her best friend.

The relief she’d felt upon hearing his voice over the phone had been tempered by just how bad he’d sounded. His words had been slurred and quiet, as if even raising his voice was too much of a strain for him. He mentioned that he’d resolved the issue with SHIELD but was badly hurt and needed a pick-up to the hospital. She had tried to keep him on the line as she’d rushed out of the apartment, but his credit on the payphone seemed to have run out while she’d waited for a taxi.

Felicia had made it roughly to the centre of the waterfront when she finally spotted what she’d been looking for; a worn-down grey payphone by one of the buildings, against which was leaning an immobile figure.

She rushed towards him as fast as her bruises would allow, and after coming within a dozen metres she was able to ascertain with horror that his wounds were significant.

Peter was sitting upright against the foot of the payphone in strange clothes, his right hand slouched over his stomach; from the dark red it had turned it was clear at a glance that it had been broken. Bruises coated his arms and face, and a red bloodstain had formed around the centre of his chest. _‘God.’_

“Peter?” She knelt by him and grabbed his shoulder with her good hand, shaking it lightly. “Peter!”

“Mmm…” Slowly, he opened his hazel eyes and looked up at her with a weak smile. “Hey, Felicia.”

“Peter...” She felt her heart painfully constricting at the sight of his injuries, but she quickly gathered her wits. “What happened?”

“What does it look like?” He smirked, only to wince in pain. “I won. We won, Felicia.” He reached for her hand on his shoulder, and his touch was warm. “It’s over.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Four Weeks Later**

Despite his astonishing rate of recovery, Peter spent roughly three weeks recuperating in the hospital. The police report concluded that he had been kidnapped and subjected to sadistic forms of torture; they never questioned his vague account of having no recollection of the event or why he might have been targeted in such a way. He’d suspected Stark’s hand in that, and in the fact that three criminals caught three days after his hospitalization had confessed to the crimes. Peter had no idea how the man had achieved that or how he had even been able to scrape three wanted murderers off the streets with such ease; he instead made an active effort to put the matter behind him and focus on his recovery.

Felicia had spent most days by his side, idling away the hours by reading a comic or playing cards with him. She always managed to slip away right before MJ or Harry came for a visit, but had stuck around to greet and help calm a shocked and bewildered Aunt May after her return from Colorado. When they were alone, Peter had multiple times tried to bring up the matters which they’d resolved to discuss together, but Felicia had always insisted that they wait for him to recover from his injuries first. She had explained that it wasn’t the sort of talk that should ever be rushed, and that one should wait for the right time and the right place. Although he agreed, that fact didn’t make said wait any easier on him.

Regarding MJ and Harry, there had been plenty of worried visits from them both as the weeks wore on. The former, having known his secret about Spider-Man, suspected that he’d in truth sustained his injuries fighting against criminals, while the latter had overflown with feelings of self-guilt over not having been a constant friend over the past year and fearing that his father’s money was the root cause of Peter’s kidnapping. After putting both their minds at ease, all that had remained afterwards was to reassure his aunt on a near-daily basis that he was eating well and making a swift recovery. He felt terrible every time he saw her, as shaken up as she was whenever she thought that she might have lost him so soon after Uncle Ben’s death.

One person who had been conspicuously absent from the hospital had been Scott Summers. When MJ informed him that ESU had received news of the couple being identified as mutants and conscripted into the Xavier Institute for everyone’s safety, Peter’s heart had sunk. He recalled all the dark rumours he had heard about the government facilities and regretted not having been able to do anything for his friend. He resolved to look into the matter wherever there was any information to be found; while unsure exactly to what end he would do so, he simply knew that he couldn’t just ignore the fact that his friend had been carted off without being allowed so much as a word of farewell.

When his friends and family had not been visiting, Peter had spent most of his time watching the news or reading the papers, with events speeding along at breakneck speed since the day of his admittance. Most remarkable of all had been the events surrounding SHIELD and Tony Stark; there had been a US Senate hearing in which the industrialist had been found guilty of mismanaging the agency for his own selfish glorification, and a mere day before he could be convicted the billionaire had suddenly disappeared from the public eye alongside his vast fortunes. The former hero of the city was declared a wanted man overnight even as Stark Industries crumbled to nothing in the face of cataclysmic stock crashes and outright stolen wealth. Peter had thought that the man was eccentric at best and psychotic at worst, but this Houdini act had shocked even him. He couldn’t help but wonder where Stark could have disappeared to, or if he’d ever see him again. He silently wished that that would never be the case.

As for SHIELD, the entire organization was stripped down and disbanded roughly three weeks into Peter’s hospitalization. The President of the United States had addressed the matter personally, claiming in a public conference that the organization had, through its multiple failures in security and mismanagement under incompetent leaders, proven to be a detriment to State security. Its funds and assets had been folded into the CIA, who had taken control of the Triskelion and all its other locations. No mention was made of the explosions at the Governor’s Island installation, with such questions being answered with comments about heavy-duty training exercises. As easily as that, the most secretive and militant intelligence agency in the world was torn up and strewn to the four winds within days.

Between the news about SHIELD and the relative ensuing silence regarding any news of Spider-Man, Peter came to accept that Tony Stark really had kept his word in the end. The staff at ESU had wished him a speedy recovery and seemed not to suspect any connection between him and the fight on the school plaza, relegating the latter to an exceptionally rare and allegedly final ‘security breach’ and ‘brawl between thugs’ which had spiralled out of control and led to his brief kidnapping. Peter doubted if all the students would really buy the story but enough parents and guardians, including Aunt May, evidently did; the university was on the verge of collapse in light of the countless complaints it was receiving for having allowed such an incident to even happen. In the end, however, what mattered was that no one seemed to seriously suspect that Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

During the court hearing Stark had, in what he might have considered a parting gift of some sort in his own eccentric mind, utterly out of the blue and without being prompted to do so confessed to having selectively published his suit’s footage from the night they had fought on the rooftop so as to create the false impression that he was stopping a burglary. He admitted that he’d been jealous of Spider-Man’s public image and had sought to demonise him before the media, then proceeding to release the full video recording from that night. Newspapers had run with the story for a few days, most of them acquitting Spider-Man of the countless accusations they had made against him. Peter had been well-pleased by the news, having dreaded the process of rebuilding his image from square one, but had as ever been utterly confused by Stark’s true motivations. He had, in time, learned that the best way to understand the man was to simply not even try to do so at all.

Between the recovery of his public image and the dissolution of the only organization which, to his knowledge, had any sort of stake in the symbiote, Peter had woken up to the day of his discharge from the hospital bursting with anticipation.

But there had been another, greater reason that had made him count down the hours until he could finally walk back out onto the street on his own two feet.

“Trust me, Aunt May, I feel as fit as a fiddle.” Peter looked both ways before jaywalking across the road, not wanting to make a name for himself as someone who got run over mere moments after being released from the hospital.

“I just wish you’d called me, Peter. I could still go pick you up.”

“Really, May, I’m good!” He felt overjoyed just to be outside again; he had spent countless hours sitting by his window and taking in the sights and sounds of the city, imagining himself swinging down its avenues. “I’ve already made appointments with my friends, so I’ll see you at the house as soon as you finish work.”

“Oh, son.” Even through the phone her voice was overflowing with tenderness and love. “You really are something. Alright, get over here by six and I’ll make you the best darn supper you’ve ever laid your eyes upon to celebrate.”

“Sounds like a deal! I’ll see you tonight.”

After his aunt had hung up, Peter continued making his way down the same streets he’d come to know so well from above. Although he’d spent most of his life walking down them rather than swinging past them he felt of late that he’d forgotten just how hectic and chaotic they could get.

As he turned a corner at a brisk pace he subconsciously brought a hand to rest over the spot where the large, circular scar that had been left on his chest. It was, he had noticed, the first permanent scar he had acquired during his time as Spider-Man; while his right hand still ached occasionally, between the doctor’s efforts and his rate of recovery the hospital had declared it borderline miraculous that he already had full use of it again.

Snapping himself out of his reverie, he checked the time and gave Harry a call.

The tone only rang once before his old friend picked up.

“Peter! You’re out of the hospital?”

“I’m a free man, Harry. Ready to tackle the world.”

“Yes! Glad to hear it.” Harry had become significantly more outspoken and jovial after he and Peter had re-established their friendship at the hospital. It was like he had been in stasis for the past few months leading up to his visit to Governor’s Island and he now strove to make up for that lost time. “You still down for lunch at my place, then?”

“Sure thing.”

“How about Mary Jane?” The two of them had met again for the first time since high school during their visits to the hospital and seemed to have gotten along very well. “Should I give her a call? This could be your get-out-of-the-hospital party!”

“MJ has morning classes right now.” He could still perfectly recall her schedule. “I’ll give her a call later, though, see if she’s up for it. How’s two sound?”

“It’s only nine right now, dude! You could come over straight away.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Peter said, staring across the road as he finally reached his destination. “I’ve got some catching up to do first.”

“Aah. Alright, alright. Let me know what MJ says.”

“Will do. See you later, buddy.”

As he hung up the phone and put it back into his pocket, Peter looked around the square, his eyes darting around as he searched for the person that had arranged the meeting.

He had barely been standing around for more than a minute when his phone rang again. He saw the name of the caller and grinned.

“Well now,” Felicia’s voice said from the other end, “look who finally decided to show up.”

“I can only heal from horrendous battle injuries in so many days,” he said, still looking around. “Where are you? I’m right on time.”

“Tut tut, how pedestrian of you to search amongst the rabble,” she replied in a mock posh tone. “Look up, above the big car billboard.”

Peter quickly found the billboard and glanced above it. A small figure was sitting on its edge with legs crossed and waving lazily.

“Okay, that’s pretty impressive. How did you get up there with all these people around?”

“A master never reveals her secrets to the apprentice.”

“How am I the apprentice? And how did you even see me in this crowd?”

“I got these cute little binoculars a week back. You should come have a look at them.”

“Up there?” He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed the figure atop the billboard, but realized that one would have to know what to look for due to her dark outfit blending in with the buildings behind her. “Is that the place you meant in your message?”

“Oh no, I had something better in mind.” The figure pointed above her head towards the building looming far above them. “Race you to the top?”

“You’ve got a head start!”

“All’s fair. I’ll wait for you at the top.”

“Oh, you’re gonna be eating those words,” he said, still holding the phone to his ear as he made his way towards the nearest alley. “This isn’t my first rodeo with that building!”

“Come and prove it, then!” With that challenge declared, she hung up the phone.

Peter grinned, shaking his head in amused disbelief as he looked around to make sure the coast was clear before webbing his way up to the top of the nearest building. _‘A nocturnal burglar running around in plain daylight? Risky move, Felicia.’_ He almost tripped in his haste to get his clothes off and, moving towards the edge, he summoned the now-recovered suit and webbed his belongings to a ventilator fan. _‘Gonna have to have a good, long discussion. But only after I’ve beaten her to the top!’_

Diving off the building’s edge, Peter felt a rush of freedom and energy like never before. He whooped loudly as he fired a web to the side of a building and used the momentum to swing himself upwards, repeating the process on the adjacent building and confirming with significant satisfaction that his right hand now only ached slightly when he put his whole weight on it. When he had moved up high enough that the target building stood bereft of neighbours, he began circling around it while rising higher and higher. On his way he saw a series of ropes firmly attached to sections of the walls that were free of windows, and he could only marvel at how much preparation the whole endeavour must have taken. Felicia herself, however, was nowhere in sight. _‘No way she could’ve been that fast. Must’ve passed her on my way up.’_

He glanced over his shoulder at the city below. New York looked beautiful in the morning light, a city full of noise and chaos and wonders and magic. For the first time ever, he looked upon it not as just another sprawling forest of concrete and metal, but home.

_‘Damn. I’m getting poetic all of a sudden!’_

A pair of pigeons fled from their perch in panic as he finally swung up beyond the edge of the rooftop, the momentum carrying him well above it so that he could perform a gratuitous flip on his way down.

Touching down on his destination in a crouch, Peter’s head shot up as a slow clap echoed from the rooftop’s centre. _‘No way!’_

“Very cute, very endearing way to reach your goal!” Felicia was sitting on a large pipe while grinning widely. She was dressed in her regular thieving outfit, although the cat hoodie was hanging down from her back and her balaclava was sticking out of her pocket. “Maybe next time you can do a little dance and stick out your arms while screaming ‘Second Place’ at the horizon!”

“Okay, that’s just-” Peter removed his mask and simply held his arms out for a moment. “How? I mean, I was fast as _hell_ …”

“One day I might teach you, young apprentice.” She was smiling mischievously as she stood up and walked towards him. Her left forearm, now fully healed, was free of the cast she had been lugging around for so long. “Until that day, just watch and learn.”

“Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

“Did you really think I’d set up a meet and not get here first?”

Peter looked around the rooftop, which was bathed in the morning light. An impressive swathe of the city could be seen from this high up, and the sounds of traffic from below were distant and muffled. He knew that she had picked this spot because it was within walking distance of the hospital, but it really was one hell of a location.

It wasn’t the highest view he’d enjoyed of New York, but it was definitely amongst the most scenic. The company only made him appreciate it even more.

“So this is it, huh?” He felt a sudden fluttering in his chest as he looked at her. “The right spot?”

Felicia picked up on his tone and nodded, staring right at him as she continued to approach. The light breeze on the rooftop was blowing some strands of her white hair across her forehead, but she didn’t seem to mind in the least.

“And the right time?”

Felicia nodded again. As she took another step and stopped within arm’s reach he could clearly see the red tinge on her cheeks. She didn’t seem to mind that in the slightest either.

“So, I guess it’s time for us to have that talk then?”

Another nod. “I guess it is.”

“Alright then.” Peter took a deep breath and took a step forwards, closing the distance between them and gently grasping her left hand with his right.

Felicia, after glancing down for a moment, looked into his eyes. They were roughly the same height, so Peter only had to look directly ahead to meet her gaze.

The words practically formed themselves after having been in the making for so long.

“I love you, Felicia Hardy.”

Just for an instant, her eyes widened somewhat. She breathed and nodded.

“And… I love you. Peter Parker.” She grinned. “A whole freakin’ lot.”

Peter nodded back, his smile widening. “Good talk.”

When their lips met, it was as if all had finally been set aright in the world.


	13. Chapter 13

**Two weeks later**

Natasha observed the procedure through the reinforced one-way window. It was slow and monotonous going, especially after two weeks of the same process day in and day out. But she had volunteered to become Steve Rogers’ handler, so it was her responsibility to oversee every last detail of his rehabilitation.

Besides – there was something about the man that truly captivated her.

She had mulled the matter over on occasion and determined that something to be how even after all the chaos and confusion and grief he was going through on a daily basis his sky-blue eyes could somehow still remain so _pure_.

“So you got him out,” a familiar voice called out from behind her. “I had heard but – I had to see it for myself.”

She turned her head and nodded in greeting.

“Stark.”

“Now, now, Natasha.” Tony Stark walked up to the glass and leaned against it. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans in a shockingly plain combination. “Is that any way to greet me after all we went through together? All the shared experiences?”

She smiled lightly and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“All I seem to remember is you hitting on me every time we were in the same room.”

“You wound me, my dear. I have a certain reputation I have to uphold, and SHIELD was always watching. Always judging!”

“Mhm.”

Turning his head, Stark glanced at the scene beyond the glass.

“How’s he doing?”

“Around 1994.”

“Aha.” He nodded, pressing his lips together, then shook his head. “You’re gonna have to give me a little more context than that. I never paid all that much attention in history class, you know?”

“And you had him in your basement for how long?” Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “Born in 1915, disappeared in 1944, remember those?”

“Secret Nazi lab in Norway, I recall the cartoon show. You can skip forward a little.”

“I don’t really need to. SHIELD found him in 1976 and we just thawed him out two weeks ago. Between those two dates Peggy Carter died single and alone in ‘85, followed by his father in ‘88 and his mother in ‘90.” She took a deep breath. “So you can imagine what the last few days have been like for him.”

Stark’s glibness seemed to suddenly vanish as he watched the muscular young blonde sitting morosely on a sofa beyond the glass. He was watching something on a television screen as a suited man standing next to the set moved his arms about animatedly and spoke.

“Jesus,” he finally said. “Being fast-forwarded sixty years into the future would be bad enough without finding out your government kept you on ice while your loved ones died.”

Noticing the sudden sadness in his voice, Natasha let down her guard and smiled.

“We got him out, Stark. That’s what matters. And that was thanks to you.”

“No.” He shook his head, returning her smile thinly. “That was thanks to Peter Parker. You never would’ve gotten him out of there if that little hero hadn’t shown up for the big fight.” His eyes became distant as he looked through the glass again. “He saved the day without even knowing it.”

Natasha nodded, deciding to bring up something that had been bothering her.

“I watched the video footage from your suit. You told me you only needed to stage a fight to create a distraction. But I could tell… you weren’t holding anything back. Nothing. You were trying to kill him.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

The former billionaire looked directly at her. “Because I had to know. I had to know without a shadow of a doubt.”

“What?”

“That Parker was in control. Of the suit, of the alien… I had to make sure he’d learned his lesson after what happened with the Enforcers.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” There was a sudden intensity to his gaze. “I had to know that even when driven to the brink, to the very boundary between life and death itself, that he wouldn’t then submit to the creature. Because that thing, Natasha, that symbiote has the potential to be the single most dangerous creature on this planet. I had to be absolutely certain.” He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Parker passed with flying colours.”

“And if you’d killed him?” She narrowed her eyes. “If he hadn’t been able to best you precisely because he was in control and holding back?”

“Then I would have to live with having taken the life of an innocent, just like I’ve been doing with all the mutants I ordered sent to the Rockies.” He tried to smile, but faltered. “But I would’ve safeguarded the world from that nightmare either way.”

Natasha looked dubiously at him for a long time. _‘When was the last time you slept untroubled by your demons, Stark?’_

They were both silent for a long time. Steve Rogers continued his lessons on the modern world with muted resolve.

“The Enforcers must miss you an awful lot,” Stark suddenly piped up.

“Hmm.” She smiled at fond recollections on hearing the name. “They’ll get by just fine without me, I think. They got paid handsomely for this little smuggling operation.”

“Still, two years is-” He stopped talking as the door behind them was opened, casting light from the hallway outside into the dimly-lit room.

“Mr. Stark. I came down as soon as I heard you had finally joined us.” A tall, elderly man with greying hair stepped into the room, his elegant suit shining in the gloom as he held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

“Ah, the Master of Magnetism himself.” Stark shook the proffered hand with a reverential nod. “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“We have so much to discuss now that you’ve arrived. I must insist that you come to my study for dinner tonight.”

“Of course. Billion-dollar transfers are usually best negotiated over a nice bottle of something particularly strong. At least in my experience.”

The leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants smiled, then exchanged a silent nod with Natasha before stepping past to observe the scene beyond the glass.

“Steve Rogers… Captain America.” Lehnsherr seemed to savour the name in his deep voice. “Robbed of his love, his family and his life by the very nation for which he was ready to sacrifice everything. All for greed… for power. This is what we’re fighting for.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Stark said, leaning an elbow against the window. “I saw it all first-hand for far too long. Just saving this one man feels like a drop in the lake of atonement, but hey. It’s a start.”

“‘All the world will be your enemy,’” the leader of the mutants recited. “They will hunt you to the ends of the Earth for this, Stark.”

The erstwhile industrialist suddenly stood upright. “Except here?”

“Except here,” the tall man nodded. “This nation we are building together, my friend – it’s for mutants and humans both. A haven for people like Steve Rogers or yourself just as much as it will be for any of the oppressed souls we rescue.”

“I’d been meaning to ask about that,” Stark said. “If you don’t mind a somewhat blunt question…”

“Please, go ahead.”

“What makes you think the mutants will want to follow a human leader? I mean, I know some already do and the rest will be grateful to you…”

Natasha was poised to intervene against the delicate question when she noticed the look in Lehnsherr’s deep eyes.

“It’s alright, Natasha. Mr. Stark has earned our trust beyond the shadow of a doubt. We shall keep no secrets from him.”

She nodded and turned her attention back beyond the glass.

“I’m only the de facto leader of the Brotherhood for now. I plan to share my power alongside a mutant leader, and together we will lead both our species into the light.”

“A mutant leader? Who-” It seemed to only take the man a second to guess the name of the most viable candidate. “Charles Xavier.”

“Precisely.”

“He’s probably the best choice,” Stark nodded. “But also the most heavily-guarded one in the whole world. How do you plan to get him out of the hole they’re keeping him in?”

“Through the sole remaining alternative when all form of dialogue is proven an impossibility,” Lehnsherr said, not once taking his eyes off Rogers. “Force of arms.”

**THE END**


End file.
